


Cruel Nature of The World

by Pinapples



Series: The one about the Dragonborn, Khajiit and the High Elf [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Elements inspired by Zaric Zahakaron's What If Skyrim Was Good Series, Eventual Romance, Interesting NPCs Mod, Multi, Mutual Pining, No beta we die like Lokir, POV Third Person Limited, Rivals to Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Tale as old as time... burn as slow as fuck, Thalmor conspiracy, Thalmor? in MY Skyrim?, Where is Rumarin?, Who is Rumarin?, Why is Rumarin?, assholes to lovers, it's more likely than you think, withershins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2020-11-06 03:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 96,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinapples/pseuds/Pinapples
Summary: When a particular high elf heads to Skyrim in order to avoid responsibilities, he finds he isn’t the only one doing so.In which, Rumarin gets picked up by a smooth talking mercenary who may or may not be involved with thieves and assassins and things way over his head.  He's counting on making some coin, maybe paying off some debts, and avoiding the Thalmor.  What he isn't counting on is… everything else.





	1. Apples and Cheap Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire work was inspired by in game skyrim events and the 3DNPCs mod, with a few things also inspiried by the "what if skyrim was good" series. Also, if you play skyrim and have not downloaded the interesting npc's mod... you absolutely should. Much love to Kris Takahashi and all the voice actors who worked so hard on the 3DNPC mod!

.***.

Apples 

(and cheap tricks)

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4th Era, year 142, 28th of Rains Hand

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_ Rumarin _

The sun seemed closer in Skingrad. Which was odd, he thought, considering the flag was a moon. People filtered past the crowded streets. Most heading towards the main square, where the rest of the troupe was no doubt already in full swing. It was Jester’s day after all. The festivities would go on until night fell and then some. And he was stuck watching the cart. Again. 

Of course he'd been given a choice. Help out with the play or stay and watch the cart, his father had said. But he didn't want to play the messenger boy with rattles. And he was sick of playing the scamps for the tale of Martin and the Champion. So here he was. 

Blowing air through his lips Rumarin leaned against the cart and began haphazardly twirling a coin through his fingers. Otero had said he'd teach him more tricks with knives but he wanted to learn how to fight ever since that day two summers ago. But Otero had also said he'd show him how to juggle swords next. Rumarin could already juggle just about anything, but his parents drew the line at flaming swords. ‘Not until you’re older’ the mantra played in his head. What did it matter if he learned now or later anyway? He kicked a few pebbles into the street, watching as they scattered across the cobblestone road, unnoticed by the people walking about. 

There was the sound of a basket shifting and he looked over. There was someone digging around in the back of their cart. 

“Hey!” he shouted. 

A small hunched figure shot upright, clutching something to their chest. It looked to be a young human girl. Who couldn’t have been more than twelve winters. 

She smirked and held her hand behind her back, as if daring him to try and move closer. 

“Please give it back?” No luck. 

The second he took a step forward the girl darted off down the street. He rushed after without a second thought. Maybe if he caught them, Otero would teach him how to summon a dagger. He'd seen him do it. 

His feet slipped around the corner, just in time to see the blue hem of a skirt disappear down another alley. This one much less lively than the other streets. He frowned, he didn’t really want to go trudging through the backwater alley ways of Skingrad, even if it was one of the cleaner cities. But if he could catch them… wouldn't that just prove to Otero and his parents that he needed a sword. He could be responsible! He took a quick breath and forced himself to sprint after the thief. 

After about five minutes of rushing through stone streets and archways he was beginning to think he’d lost them. He’d climbed over three fences and bumped into no less than five people while running. He was about to give up when he caught a glimpse of a familiar hood disappearing behind a building. He sped up and turned the corner. 

She was standing in front of a wrought iron gate, her back to him. He stopped, his feet sliding a little on the smooth stones. It was a dead end. There wasn’t anywhere for them to go! 

“Hah!” he cried in triumph. The girl turned at the sound of his voice. Instead of looking worried she _ smiled _ at him. What in Oblivion was it with humans? “Hand it over!” he shouted, hand out for the apple.

The girl looked up at the high stone walls surrounding them. “I'd rather die first!” she shouted back at him, all while still smiling. Seeing no other exit, she turned and began climbing gate at the end of the alley, separating the street from another small courtyard with a well, that looked like it eventually led into the main square. 

She scrambled up the gate but Rumarin was quicker. He reached up and went to grab her ankle, still hanging down as she threw one leg over the side. The heel of her shoe connected with his hand, sending sharp pains through his wrist. “Ow!” he pulled his hand back, knuckles throbbing. 

She swung the other leg over the fence and dropped down, grinning triumphantly. 

He was already halfway up the gate, thanks to his much taller form. He saw his chance just as she turned her back to him to run away. 

From the top of the gate, he leapt. 

The impact jarred his bones but he came crashing down on top of the thief. Both of them grunting from the impact. His eyes screwed shut at the dust it kicked up. The girl beneath him started yelling. He wasn't even sure what language it was, but from her tone he guessed it was insults. How rude, she wasn't even using common. 

“You sload! Give it back!” he cried, forcing his arm around to try and pry their hand up. A knee connected with his stomach and he left out a huff as air forced its way out of his lungs.

Her hand tried to force its way into his face. They were a tangle of limbs and fists and he felt his ears scrap against the dirt. 

They both froze when a large shadow loomed over them, blocking out the sun. Rumarin looked up… and there was Otero, standing over them, hands on his hips and looking very stern. 

Sometimes, most times, Otero came off as a big, lumbaring joker. His ruddy cheeks and crinkled expression and large belly and his booming laugh gave the impression he was some kind of jolly old nord who drank mead for every meal. He didn't look that way now. In fact, Rumarin was instantly reminded of the time of the time he’d stopped those bandits. 

“I think you'd both best get off the ground, lest some guards think you both deserve a night in the stocks.” 

Rumarin glanced at the girl and saw her looking from Otero to him. Both of them still on the ground. He felt her release her hold on his hair as his scalp screamed with relief. Each slowly releasing their hold on the other, untangling themselves from the ground. Rumarin pushed himself up and dusted off his pants, bringing a hand up to the side of face that’d hit the ground. It stung where he touched it. 

“What have you got there little miss?” Otero’s shadow eclipsing the small girl. 

Shooting Rumarin a glare, the girl wordlessly held out a green apple. 

Otero raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. “All this fuss over an apple. If you’re hungry, we’ll feed you, child.” 

Rumarin made a sound of protest and was instantly silenced by a look from Otero. “But, I think you ought to give that back? I know he looks like a stringy silt strider but traveling folk need to eat too. 

The girl giggled. Rumarin huffed, crossing his arms. This was so typical of him. Otero was always nicer to girls. 

Otero gestured to him to hold out his hand and receive the apple. Shooting Otero a look of reluctance, he extended his palm. 

The girl looked from the apple, to him. And slowly held it out, about to drop it into his hand until she suddenly yanked it back, took a bite and then dropped it in his outstretched palm before ducking under his arm and disappearing back around the corner once more. 

He whipped around to glare at Otero, still holding the apple. “I tried to tell you! Why wouldn’t you let me go after her? I could take her in a fight!” 

Otero just laughed. 

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.***.

59 years later

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201, 17th of Last Seed

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_ Ralof _

The first thing Ralof noticed about the unconscious woman in the cell, was her hair. It was dark, and otherwise unremarkable, save for the tangle of knots and matted blood that had left a trail down the side of her neck. He suspected she’d suffered a head wound. 

He didn't know who she was. Why some redguard girl was thrown into an imperial prison in Helgen was beyond him. But more than that, she looked… ragged; like she hadn't bathed in weeks. Her hands were bound but that didn't explain the rope marks that already bruised her arms. 

A part of him felt sorry for the lass. She wasn't with them. She needn't suffer with the rest. Ralof watched as she stirred and caught a glimpse of her eyes before her face screwed up in pain.

Blue. But cold. Like steel.

Gingerly her hands reached up to the source of pain on the back of her head, only to discover they’d been bound. Ralof heard the audible grit of her teeth. Slowly, she opened her eyes again.

“Hey you, you’re finally awake,” Ralof spoke softly. A wound like that was going to take some time to recover from. Time he suspected they didn't have. 

She blinked several times, and promptly leaned over, and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the stone floor. Coughing a few times, she leaned back against the wall.

“Easy there,” he moved his hands to help guide her up, but her glare halted him. “You were trying to cross the border right?”

“Damn you Stormcloaks,” one of the other prisoners piped up, “Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you I’d have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” 

The woman peered at the thief with one eye when the next words out of his pitiful mouth were directed at her. 

“You there, you and me,” the thief whispered towards her, “we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

She spat more of the bile out of her mouth as one of the other stormcloaks spoke up. 

“Shh! The guards are coming. They’ve got someone with them.” 

Ralof watched as she tried to wiggle the binding loose. 

“What’s the matter with him?” the thief gestured to the guard and figure walking behind. It was Ulfric. Gagged and bound. Ralof bristled at the thief's lack of respect.

“Watch your tongue,” he warned, “that’s Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King and heir to the Empire of Tamriel.” 

“What?” the thief turned to look at him, “he’s not an imperial?” 

“Not that Empire, boy. Ulfric’s got the dragon blood in his veins.”

“I thought the Septim’s were all wiped out?” 

“They were. According to the Thalmor.” Ralof turned back to the woman leaning against the wall. “Where do you hail from, redguard?” he asked. She eyed him with disdain. 

“Cyrodiil.” Her voice was dry and rasped. Ralof nodded. The rest of the soldiers suddenly shrank back from the bars. He spotted the leader of the Imperial forces, and some familiarly dressed elves. 

“Look at him!” he whispered. Ralof couldn't keep the malice out of his voice. “General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him; damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this.” 

The woman picked up her head and her gaze followed the Thalmor agents.

Ralof could hear them arguing down the hall.

“General Tullius, I'm taking custody of these prisoners and returning to the embassy.”

“I can't let you do that, it would cause too many problems as is.”

“_ I _am operating with full authority under the white-gold concordat! You are in no position to keep them from me, Tullius.”

Ralof watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't so much as made a single move other than to vomit, but the Thalmor had her alert as a hawk. Wasn't too unusual, he supposed. Most people in their right mind would do the same. 

Ralof thought for a moment that the elves eyes had locked onto hers; but that was ridiculous, how could they know who she was? Some stranger in a prison cell.

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.***.

Ralof heard Hadvar ask the girl to step forward. They had all been led out to the courtyard now. Facing the block. 

He turned his head to see the woman stand to her full height. Which was impressive. She was probably taller than he was. As it was her gaze met Hadvar’s head on. 

“Who are you?” Hadvar asked as he stepped past him.

The woman hesitated. Ralof didn't miss how her eyes flicked to the Thalmor agent standing several paces behind. 

“...Akhara,” came the tight lipped reply.

Hadvar stared at her for a moment, as if expecting a last name. “Are you from Cyrodiil, traveler?”

No answer.

Hadvar frowned before turning back to the captain, “-she's not on the list,” came the whispers.

“Forget the list. She goes to the block.” 

To her credit, the woman didn't so much as blink at her death sentence. Instead she turned without a word and came to stand next to Ralof. Her expression set in stone. 

For a moment, Ralof feared Tullius would execute Ulfric first, but it seemed fate had other plans. He watched as the priest began reciting the rites, and his brother in arms moved forward.

“As fearless in death, as he was in life.” Ralof looked down at his brother sadly. He was afraid, yes. But he wasn't about to give the legion the satisfaction of knowing. The woman next to him scoffed. He frowned at her dismissiveness. So did the imperial captain, apparently.

“Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil.”

The woman didn't so much as move a muscle. Ralof sighed inwardly. Knowing how this was going to end. _ Just go girl, _ he thought, _ don't make your death harder than it needs to be. _

Somewhere in the distance, something roared.

One of the guards shoved her forward towards the block. And she snapped. 

The woman whipped around and kicked, landing a blow to the man's neck as she ducked when the captain and two other guards came forward to subdue her. With a snarl she twisted one of the guards swords out of their hands and stabbed him in the leg before the captain grabbed a fistful of her hair. 

(there was that noise again.)

Screams echoed throughout the keep as the captain dragged her back towards the block, shoving her down with both hands. Ralof almost thought the girl had given up when she looked down at the fallen head on the ground. Instead she reared her head back, it connected with the captain’s face with a sickening crack and the captain stumbled back, clutching her face as blood seeped from her nose and mouth. 

The captain shouted. 

The girl on the block was laughing. 

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The woman was still laughing, when it flew over the mountain. 

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201, 21st of Frostfall

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_ Rumarin _

Rumarin trudged through the snow covering the road to Windhelm. When he left Markarth no one had mentioned that he would have to hike through three feet of snow_ every _ step of the way. 

_ Blasted. _

_ Skyrim. _

Rumarin sighed and looked up. Squinting through the glaring light that bounced off the blasted white stuff in every direction in the setting sun. There seemed to be a small nord ruin up on a hill to the north. He could camp there for the night. After that stint with Salma and Beem-Ja, he wasn’t feeling particularly up to raiding more ruins. Maybe he could loot some coins from the crypt and reach Ulundil’s tomorrow. Not that he expected to find anything truly valuable, but the nord’s were very peculiar about their dead. 

Reaching the old alcove, it seemed the nords weren’t totally useless, as he’d managed to light two of the old fire pits in the alcove of the crypt. The wind was picking up outside, pretty soon there would be no visibility at all. As it was the night was already getting dark, and darker still in the absence of the two moons. A particularly strong gust of wind blew in, snuffing out one of the braziers. Rumarin sighed, well, he might as well search for some gold. If only he could get the sarcophagus lid open… 

“Argh! You blasted old tomb! Open!” he kicked at the sarcophagus. Shooting pain raced through his toes and foot as the stone surface remained unmoved. “Stupid nords,” he huffed. He turned around, eyes scanning the alcove for anything he could use to pry open the lid-when his thoughts were interrupted by an odd scraping noise. He turned “Wha-” 

The stone lid fell away to reveal a skeleton raising a rusty war axe. Rumarin barely had time to conjure a sword before they met mid swing. The axe went flying, and he swore he saw the skeleton growl at him before it charged forward. Bony fingers extended towards his face. 

“Ah!” he swung again, this time aiming for the ribs. Bones went flying as his sword seemingly knocked an invisible string that held it together. A femur rolled to his feet, and was still. He exhaled and turned only to see two more skeletons walking towards him, weapons raised, when the bones scattered without warning. 

A steel arrow pinned into one of the spines. Steel? He wasn't alone out here then. 

“Wow,” he let out, “that was a frightening experience. The nord’s should really consider-” he turned around, looking for whoever had joined him, only to find himself staring straight into the covered face of someone holding a dagger to his neck, 

“-burning their dead.”

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	2. Binds Blades, Will Travel

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Binds blades, Will Travel

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.***.

_Rumarin_

Rumarin gulped, gaze following the length of the dagger pointed at his nose to the two steely eyes glaring at him from under a hood. A second blade was pressed against his side. 

“Who-” they began. 

Crash!

Another set of bones went flying as a dark blue khajiit appeared around the stone pillar. 

"Ahh my friend, you should really learn to check your corners.” 

The eyes holding Rumarin's snapped to the khajiit and back again. Another figure appeared on the right, bow also drawn. Rumarin tried not to flinch, letting his sword dissipate and holding both palms up. If these people wanted the gold that badly they could have it, and the silly nord tomb. 

“Um… ” he was still frozen, not daring to move lest the one with the dagger at his face decide to let their fingers slip. 

“Who are you?” said the one with the dagger. The voice was female. 

“Ah… the name’s Rumarin. Professional adventurer, bladebinder, and graverobber,” he threw in, figuring if he was going to die, he’d at least go out with sarcasm. 

The woman blinked, as if his answer had somehow confused her. 

“I am Inigo,” said the khajiit, sweeping into a bow. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Inigo...” the woman growled, the dagger pointed at his chin lowering by a fraction.

“Somehow… I don’t think he’s who we came here to find,” said the third figure, removing his face cover to reveal a bosmer. 

“Akhara...” the one called Inigo cautioned. Rumarin looked between the two of them. Slowly, the one called Akhara lowered her weapon, huffing as she turned back to the rest of the ruin. Night had set now. The last of the sun slipping below the mountains. Rumarin let out a sigh of relief as the dagger was no longer poised at his face. 

Only his sigh wasn't the only thing he heard. 

“Shh!” she tilted her head to the side and held up a finger clearly meant to indicate silence. The four of them turned to look out into the snow beyond the mouth of the ruin. 

Several very large figures were walking up the snow covered hill, weapons drawn. 

“I'm going to take a guess and say they aren't with you?” Rumarin whispered. 

Inigo shook his head, drawing his sword. The other two stood back against the walls of the ruin. There wasn't much sense in hiding, he supposed, since the figures coming up the steps were clearly heading straight for them. 

As the newcomers stepped into the light cast from the braziers Rumarin saw they looked a lot more like Skyrim’s typical mercenaries. Or bounty hunters. The only question then was… who were they here for? The other three seemed to be wondering the same thing. 

“What's this?” the one in front spoke. A nord man with a mess of braided hair and armor of furs and leather. Rumarin stiffened as five others joined the first, all of them with weapons drawn. The first looked between the four of them before addressing the one who’d been holding a dagger to his neck, “You Akhara?”

One of the other thugs behind him piped up, “she sure looks like it you sod. Dark hair, scar on her cheek.”

“I'm only askin’ to be sure!” the first yelled at the second. 

Rumarin saw Akhara’s jaw tighten as she moved to attack the thug in front of her. 

Before anyone could move, one thug pulled out what could only be a scroll, and in a flash of green light, the three who’d originally approached him were frozen in place. Paralysis, then. 

Rumarin raised his eyebrows at the other six thugs. Palms still in the air. 

“There was only supposed to be three of them.” One thug sounded angry, hand gesturing to Rumarin who still stood in the middle of the ruin. 

“Well do we kill this one and take the others?” 

This was going nowhere fast. Rumarin looked between the thugs standing around and the three frozen in place. Rumarin had to take his pick. Was he more likely to live if he let the thugs kill the three original thugs who’d found him? Probably no. But could he live if he managed to save the first three? Including the one khajiit, Inigo, who seemed to be _ not _ intent on killing him. 

“Aren't you tired?” Rumarin directed at the nearest mercenary.

“What?” the thug’s stubble covered face turned to fix him with a look of confusion.

“Well, I don't know, maybe you're as tired as I am? I was planning on just taking a nap. But since I won't be getting sleep any time soon, why not play cards? You want to see a magic trick?” 

One thug stuck his arm in front of the other as a warning. “Watch it mage, one wrong move and we’ll gut you like your friends over here.”

“Oh, no you misunderstand," Rumarin said as he flicked a deck of cards out of his pocket. "I don't know these idiots from manners," he held the cards out to the thugs. “Pick a card.”

The one who read the scroll stepped closer, his grimy dirt covered fingers pulling a card from the deck. 

_He'd have remember to burn the deck later. _

“Now, remember your card, and slide it back.” 

he shuffled the deck, all of them watching him, clearly confused. He pulled out a card at random, “is your card-?” 

“No.” The hulking man looked thoroughly unimpressed and grabbed at Rumarin’s outstretched hand, knocking the cards onto the floor. 

“You didn't let me finish,” he frowned. With a flourishing motion he slipped the card out from his sleeve, “is this your card?” 

He waited until the men's eyes lit up, holding the card out in front, his other hand behind his back, Rumarin slipped the dagger out of his sleeve, and as he waved the card in front of the man nearest to him, brought the dagger around and embedded it into the man's neck, conjuring a sword with his other hand, letting the cards fall to the snow. 

There was a green flash as the paralysis was ended with the caster. In a brief moment where everyone seemed too surprised to do anything, including Rumarin. Then everyone jumped into action. 

Inigo seized the opportunity to jump the third thug, while Akhara had taken it to pin the fourth to the ground, a throwing knife appearing in her hands as Rumarin braced to fight the second. 

The thug swung at him, his axe narrowly missing Rumarin’s side as he jumped back. Blue light from his sword reflecting off the snow. “That wasn't very nice,” Rumarin said. 

“You killed him!” the thug screamed, spit flying from his angry mouth as Rumarin wasn't sure what he wanted to avoid more, the saliva or the weapon. 

Before he could reach him, the man's eyes went wide, limbs going stiff as a strangled sound made its way from his throat. Blood appeared at the corners of his mouth as the thug fell face first to the ground. Dagger protruding from the back of the thugs neck and Akhara standing behind him. 

“Wow, I can't believe that worked,” Rumarin said, looking around at the fallen bandits. 

The bosmer that was with them looked at Rumarin with both eyebrows raised, “Which part, the card trick or the dagger to the neck?” 

“Both really,”

“Well, regardless of belief, I think we should thank you," the bosmer man inclined his head in a small bow. 

“I must apologize for my friend’s earlier behavior,” Inigo stepped forward. “You… were not who we were expecting,” he paused, glancing him up and down. “Are you alright?” 

“Oh, I’m fine.” Rumarin dusted himself off, “and don’t worry that’s not blood on my face, it’s makeup. No, I’m sorry, ‘warpaint,’” he raised his fingers in little air quotes. 

“And just what, exactly, is a bladebinder?” came a haughty voice. 

Rumarin looked over. ‘Akhara’ had lowered her hood and face cover, revealing an imperial, or a redguard. He wasn’t entirely sure. But her accent was distinctly colovian. Lightning flashed outside the barrow and thunder rolled in the distance. He fought the urge to laugh at how sinister the atmosphere made the small woman seem. Not that she was small… she was quite tall, in fact. Her gaze not quite level with his. Impressive for a human. 

Brushing the snow off herself some of it hit him in the chest. Rumarin had the sneaking suspicion she’d done it on purpose. Well, if she wanted to play that game...

“It’s right there in the word,” he sneered, “I summon and bind blades and weapons from Oblivion.” 

“Ah, you picked up conjuring bound weapons just like that?” her voice full of suspicion.

“That’s where the knife ears come in handy,” he tapped his ear, “or was it toad skin?...crocodile lips? I can never remember all these infernal nicknames the humans give us.” 

He knew on some level that he probably shouldn’t goad someone who had a dagger to his face just moments prior, but her clear distaste for him made it near impossible to resist. “See, I was always good with a sword and bow but too _ lazy _ to carry them,” he continued. Extra emphasis on the lazy just so she’d know how awful the altmer were. “Learning to conjure the weapons I need solved that dilemma.” He smiled showing teeth. She was practically fuming now, he could see the snow melting off her. 

“On the contrary, a bound weapon is loud, time-consuming and can’t be tempered,” she fired back, ticking off reasons on her fingers. 

“You forgot impermanent, magika draining, and the fact that they only come in one color,” he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “Still, you don’t have to carry them.” 

“If you had any strength at all that wouldn’t be an issue for you.” 

“Well I don’t know about _ you _ but the idea of slogging from town to town with a weapon rack strapped to my back is _ not _ my idea of an adventure.” He stopped himself from taking another step forward. Who did she think she was anyway? It wasn’t as if _ he _ had almost stabbed _ her _in the face. 

“Ehm, do you know any other magic besides conjuring weapons?” Inigo intervened, stepping forward. Rumarin glared at Akhara before answering.

“Ever seen an elf juggle three axes while conjuring a fourth? Tie a cherry stem in a knot with their tongue? Now _ That’s _ magic.” He uncrossed his arms, “Now if you mean spells and things… no,” he finished lamely. 

“A high elf that can't cast spells?” Akhara sneered. 

“And an imperial that doesn't have manners!” he feigned horror at her, watching as the bosmer snorted into his hands to cover a laugh. 

“Well, as a high elf, you must have an opinion on the Thalmor.” Akhara practically spat. 

Rumarin blinked. So is that what they were after? 

Thalmor.

“And as an imperial,_ you _ must have an opinion on everything,” he snipped back. 

Her glare hardened and her hand came to rest on the hilt of her dagger. For a split second he thought she was actually going to attack him. 

“Look, why don’t we all get out of this storm, yes?” Inigo tried to ease the tension. “And since, you helped us out in this… unfortunate situation, please allow us to buy you a room and a drink.” 

Rumarin looked between the three of them. The Inigo fellow seemed trustworthy enough. He wasn’t sure about the bosmer and Akhara looked as though she was ready to keep fighting, but something told him they wouldn’t remain so civil if he refused. 

“Well, I’m always a sucker for free food,” he sighed. 

“Excellent!” Inigo clapped his hands together. “There is an inn just a short walk from here. And we can have a chance to get out of this snow.” 

Akhara turned and strode ahead of them. Rumarin wondered how she had any idea where she was going in the dark. Swirling snow and thunder all around. Unless she led the way by pure anger. That seemed appropriate, he decided. 

“Don’t worry about her,” came a voice behind his shoulder.

“What?” Rumarin looked down at the wood elf. “You mean don’t worry about the woman leading us through the dark who almost took out my eye a few minutes ago? Sure, I’ll work on that.” 

The bosmer laughed “She’s just sour because she was expecting a… someone else. The name is Daenlyn by the way.”

“Oh… I’ll try not to disappoint next time.” 

They trudged the rest of the way in silence. By the time they reached the inn it was well past midnight. 

.***.

Rumarin was poking his meager plate of food when a familiar female voice popped up behind him. 

“Why the paint under the eyes?”

He tensed. Both Inigo and Daenlyn were nowhere to be seen. He’d seen them go down to the cellar earlier, evidently they hadn’t come back up. 

Akhara was standing there, one hand on her hip. He blinked at her sudden willingness to talk to him. The bottle of wine in her hand hitting the table with a soft thunk. That explained the cellar then. 

“Well, you know, I was going to go for something more subtle, like a wyvern mounting a cliff racer, but I thought people might misinterpret the analogy.” He watched, pleased, as she coughed into her wine. “Besides there wasn't enough room on my groin to begin with, so I decided to paint my face instead.”

“Hmmm,” she pursed her lips, trying to recover from the cough, and sat down across from him, leaning her elbows on the table. 

Now that he could see her in decent lighting and not a nordic ruin he noticed the scars along her left cheek the thugs had mentioned. It was a long scar. Under the cheekbone. Along the jaw. Her dark curls held up loosely in the back.

(Alarm bells began going off somewhere in his brain)

“A dash under the eyes helps with the glare,” he continued, “so does a hood.” He began twirling his fork between his fingers.

A harsh exhale escaped her lips. He guessed this was her way of laughing. “You're not a serious high elf are you?”

“Oh I’m serious about a lot of things. In fact, I’m absolutely dedicated to not taking life seriously.” 

She sipped her wine again. “So… do you actually have an opinion on the Thalmor?” she asked nonchalantly. 

The twirling paused.

He could tell she was probing. He briefly wondered if she was planning on killing him still. He'd seen the lake outside. Not a great place to hide a body, but still… he got the sense she was one to kill first and worry about the logistics later. 

“I do. They’re tall punctual, and have good posture.” Rumarin held her gaze, half hoping she’d believe him, and half hoping she’d just kill him and get it over with.

“... I guess that means you’re not a Thalmor,” she said, taking a drink.

“True, I’m not very punctual,” he smiled, “and I’m actually an inch shorter than the average high elf”. 

She raised a single eyebrow at him. 

“Wait- Wait that came out wrong!” he stammered, pointing the fork at her. 

“An Altmer with a sense of humor? Hmm, I like you, elf.” 

And the twirling resumed. 

“Glad to hear it. Skyrim could use more of it. Humor _ and _ sense.” Skyrim could use a lot of things, he thought. Like more frequent bathing.

“Do you speak Aldmeri?” 

“No, not really. Unless you want to know the words “outsider” or “ugly child” or how to call someone’s mother a sload.”

“Colourful.” She leaned against the wall, reclining on the bench. “So, what were you actually doing up there?”

“Besides looking for a place to sleep? This might come as a surprise but some of us loot nord ruins for gold.”

“is that successful?” 

“Not really.”

“What will you do now?”

“Hmm?” Rumarin started, amazed she was interested in his plans at all. Mostly because his plans involved stealing money from the dead and hiding from certain debt collectors. “Oh I'll probably go back to Windhelm. I have a friend who works the stables there. I also said I'd help out this old alchemist and find a bottle in that ruin just off the road but...” 

“I thought you were an adventurer? Seems like a few skeletons almost had you in,” Akhara said smugly, propping her feet up. 

“Really? Because I recall being the only one left mobile after some thugs appeared.” 

“Yes, your card trick must be a real hit at parties.” 

He shrugged, hiding his discomfort. “Well I normally travel alone, but… that's because I'm insufferable.” 

“All the time?” she raised a patronizing eyebrow. 

“Basically…” Rumarin replied. Akhara stared at him, waiting for an explanation. 

“Care to elaborate?” her hand making rolling gestures in the air. Rumarin silently praised his luck.

“Do you always probe people you just met like this?” 

“Fine,” Akhara waved her hand again. Dismissive. 

Rumarin smiled into his mead. 

“What's so funny?” she demanded. 

“Oh, nothing.” 

Akhara eyed him but didn't say anything else. He supposed he shouldn't be too disappointed. She'd probably never even heard of withershins. 

The wood next to him creaked as Inigo pulled out a chair and sat down. “Did I hear you are planning to go adventuring into that ruin we passed?” 

“Not so much adventuring as fetching dangerous items for menial pay but… you know.” 

“Well, we're heading to Dawnstar. Since it's on the way, I don't see why we can't help you raid that ruin. So long as you plan on letting us raid whatever else we find." 

“Sure. Just don’t blame me when all you find is dead people with coins stuffed up their nose.” 

“You have a deal then, graverobber.” She tapped the table with her knuckles. “And for the record, I'm a redguard without manners, not an imperial.” 

“Oh my mistake, I have poor eyesight on account of my being a sload and all. So we'll set off tomorrow then.” He smiled, pleased to see what must have been the barest hint of a smile on her lips as she walked away. 

.***.

Akhara, he soon learned, was not one for patience, or generally niceness in any sense of the word. 

Shortly after leaving the inn the next morning the new found group he was traveling with was stopped by some bandits on the road. Rumarin was, quite literally, ready to hand over his coin purse and avoid a confrontation when Akhara had marched up to the bandit talking, and plunged her blade into his neck. 

That had been about two hours ago now. 

Since then they now stood at the entrance to the cave, and he was hoping to be paid for trekking through lots of spider webs to find an old alchemist's flask. 

“Truth be told, I’m a little wary about traveling in large groups,” he let out before they went in. “Particularly since the last group I agreed to travel with decided I would make a good blood sacrifice.” 

“What?” Inigo gave him a concerned glance as they entered the cavern, his torch casting shadows onto the uneven walls. 

“Okay well only one of the members thought I would make a good sacrifice. I was just trying to help them raid a nord ruin for treasure. Salma said we could split whatever we found. Beem-Ja seemed to think it would be better to split _ me _ so he could become a soul sucking liche.” 

“And how did that pan out?” Daenlyn asked.

“Oh we killed him. And Salma didn’t have much interest in traveling with me after that. Can’t say I blame her.” 

“Thankfully I don’t think any of us have hidden plans to sacrifice anyone,” said Daenlyn. “I prefer the living myself.” 

“Is that a joke about your poor talent with conjuration or…?” Rumarin frowned at the implications, given Daenlyn was most definitely a bosmer that may or may not follow the green pact. 

Daenlyn smiled at him, showing incisors that did nothing to help settle Rumarin’s nerves. The sooner they could get this job done and he could get paid, the better.

.

.

.

They worked quickly as a team. Inigo and Daenlyn both used swords and bows, though Daenlyn could cast a few basic destruction spells. Akhara had used a bow once but apparently she wasn’t very skilled with it. Because she used it to hit a draugr across the head with. Which he almost found funny, that was… if he hadn’t found her to be slightly terrifying when fighting with every other type of weapon. In the last hour he'd seen her use throwing daggers, swords and a polestaff. He thought he saw her kill a draugr with a piece of pottery when one of them knocked her blade out of her hand. 

Note to self, do not get near in close combat.

Eventually they made their way through the ruin and found a ritual chamber of some sort. 

“What in Sanguine’s tits is this?” Akhara was tracing the rim of the raised stone basin with a finger. 

"If I had to guess," Rumarin said, "it's whatever this concoction is for." He uncorked Nurelion’s potion with a small pop. Rumarins nostrils burned as he poured the foul smelling green liquid into the stone basin. 

Daenlyn stood next to him, pinching his nose. “By Y'ffre… that smells worse than jagga tastes.” 

“I… will wait out here,” Inigo quickly left the room, tail lashing back and forth. 

Rumarin and Akhara both held their breath, trying not to breath in. His eyes watered as the stone in front of them began to grind and slowly sink into the ground, revealing a small library filled with dusty alchemy tools and ingredients. 

There, sitting on a small stone slab, was a white phial. Akhara pushed passed him and gingerly picked the bottle up, turning it- and his stomach sank. A long crack ran the length of the bottom. Daenlyn stood next to him, wearing an expression that looked exactly how he felt. 

“Ooh, so the phial’s cracked.” Rumarin let sarcastic optimism coat his words. “That's unfortunate. Maybe the next cave we raid will have some glue.”

“Will this hurt your pay?” Akhara turned to him.

“Hmm, I don't know. I suppose hoping this trip would be worth it was just too much to hope for.”

“Worth it or not, it’s yours now,” she held it out to him. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Well I figure if I can't fix it, I'll just get a normal bottle and paint it white.”

“You think that will fool this man you’re selling to?” 

“It only has to fool him long enough for him to set gold in my hands. Which is to say, about four minutes.” 

.

.

.

.***.

.

.

“This... it matches every description of the Phial that I've found in lore. But if it can't hold liquid, there's no way of knowing. How did you manage to damage it, then?" Nurelion scowled at the four of them. Rumarins hopes of getting gold quickly plummeting. "This is what I get for not retrieving it myself."

“It was like that when we found it!” Akhara said, hands on her hips. 

"Figures,” Nurelion huffed, “I doubt you have sufficient knowledge to harm the Phial even if you wanted to. Either way, this is the end of it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm not quite in the mood to entertain guests. I trust you can show yourselves out. Here's for your trouble.

Nurelion handed him five septims. Five. Akhara's glare followed the old man as he hobbled up the stairs and out of sight. Muffled coughs still heard from above. 

Akhara’s nostrils flared. He saw the apprentice quickly disappear, and Akhara stormed out of the building. Cold and snow blowing in as she forced the door open. 

Rumarin ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Inigo followed Akhara and Daenlyn after he shot him a look that just said ‘well, guess that’s it’ before exiting also. Rumarin cursed his luck under his breath. 

He had now total, 302 septims to his name. Nowhere near enough what he needed. He would have to look elsewhere. He was just about to leave when he heard footsteps rushing down the stairs and saw the apprentice, Quintus, rushing towards him. 

“I want to thank you for your help. I know my master can be a bit short at times. Here." He held out a sack of coin. 

Rumarin blinked at him, dumbstruck, and held out his hand.

.***. 

500 gold. Five hundred gold septims. And he hadn't told the others about it. 

It was their fault really, for leaving so soon. He didn't feel guilty about it in the slightest. Not if it kept him alive. Besides, he needed this gold. Needed it if he wanted to stay alive, which he very much did. He didn’t think they were so poor off either, Akhara had mentioned they had lots of mercenary work, so no, he would be keeping this to himself. 

Something abeuptly shoved into his shoulder from behind, his palms scraped against the rough black stone walls to prevent himself from falling over. He looked to see a nord man, red in the face, glaring at him. 

“What are you doing here, elf?” the man practically spat the word ‘elf’ as if it would taste like dirt on his tongue for being in his mouth, “You a spy?” 

Rumarin stood and looked the huffing nord man up and down. He was obviously drunk, one bottle still clenched in his ruddy fist. Oh this was rich. 

Before Rumarin could form a reply Inigo appeared beside him, “go peddle your hatred elsewhere, you intolerant idiot.” 

“We don't want your kind here!”

“Your mouth will be the death of you,” Inigo said, one hand on the hilt of his sword, “Go, before I shut it forever.” 

“You know who I am?! My brother is-” 

“Not here to save you,” Inigo grasped the mans upper arm and shoved him away, “now get.”

Rumarin watched the nord scramble off, nearly slipping on the icy stone. 

“Moron,” Inigo called after him. “I hope you weren’t harmed?” 

“Oh, no I’m fine,” he nodded his thanks to Inigo. He'd suffered little aside from being taken by surprise. “Most nords don't like high elves you know, I think they have an aversion to anything gold.”

"Some don’t like me because the colour of my fur. I don't like ignorant, racist, bigots so I guess we're even," Inigo led him towards the inn. 

Rumarin's fingers were twitching incessantly. Thinking about the extra pouch of gold on his person, he ignored the urge to touch it. Surprisingly, Inigo led them to the Candlehearth inn, not the retching netch. Truthfully Rumarin was surprised the guards had even let Inigo inside the city. Though he suspected Akhara had either bribed or threatened them into letting a khajiit and an unknown high elf into the city. 

Inside the inn, Rumarin had a hard time seeing through the smoke. Someone really ought to tell Edna that just because it was called candlehearth, didn't mean she had to actually burn candles every few intervals. 

Inigo led him up the stairs to where Akhara and Daenlyn sat at a table. 

“Took you long enough. If you two wanted some time alone you could just say so,”

“You are funny my friend,” 

Akhara turned to Rumarin, “You up for a trip to Dawnstar or will you be staying in Windhelm?”

Rumarin blinked. “Why Dawnstar?” he asked. 

“Have another job in Dawnstar. Not to mention I've got several well paying jobs to take care of, _ if _ you're interested in things that are not strictly legal.” 

He did need the money. And a little extra protection wouldn't hurt if debt collectors came looking for him. 

“Sure, why not.” 

“Inigo will be pleased. I think he likes you.” 

  
.

.

.

.***.

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.

.

“So your sources say this ‘Jorgen’ in Morthal has one of the pieces?” Akhara eyed the man called Silus. 

They were in a Mythic Dawn museum. Of all things. Museum being a generous term, in Rumarin's mind. It was a wooden shack with a fireplace and behind more of the crimson banners there was clearly a living space for the "curator". 

Inigo and Daenlyn were looking over the shelves of books and old robes. While Rumarin stood with his arms crossed against the wall. Not that Rumarin had anything against the maniacal cult that had almost destroyed the world, no. 

“Ahhh yes, most likely.” Silus stammered.

“Most likely?” Akhara ground out.

“He-he's one of the only descendants of the clan that possessed one of the pieces… if anyone has it, it's him.” Silus finished hurriedly. 

“Fine. I'll find these pieces for your dagger, and since there's three pieces, I expect triple the pay.”

For a moment Rumarin thought the man was going to argue. He might be stupid but even Silus had to realize his life would end up in danger if he pissed this woman off.

“Yes, well...thank you. I eagerly await your return.” Silus inclined his greasy head in the barest of bows. Rumarin swore he heard the man's sigh of relief as they walked out the door.

.***.

They spent the night at the inn. Or, rather, had tried to. There was a crowd inside, judging by their soot stained clothes and blackened boots, Rumarin guessed they were miners. He ignored them as he looked for a table to sit down at, shouldering his way through as Inigo followed him. 

Would it be _ so _ hard to get decent fish here? 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Akhara talking to the dunmer priest that had been addressing the crowd when they'd first walked in. 

Among the voices on the inn he could make out some of their conversation. Something about a tower on the hill over the town, and gold as a reward. 

Daenlyns face wrinkled into a scowl at the fish they were brought. Hesitantly bringing a piece up to his mouth before dropping it as Akhara slapped them both on the back. 

"Fish later. Gold now." 

"We've been walking for hours," Rumarin complained. 

"So what's one more?" 

Inigo glanced at Daenlyn and Rumarin, ears back, with a small thumb jab motion towards the door.

Rumarin made a noise somewhere between a whine and a snarl as they pushed themselves away from the bench. Fish untouched. 

.***.

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.

.

.***.

The wind outside was wicked. The evening sun glaring off the snow, nearly making him snow blind. 

“So we’re following the crazy dream priest then?" Rumarin called through the wind and snow that was pushing his hood every which way. 

No response.

"Well, good thing we’re going somewhere no one will be able to hear us- I mean, _ him _, scream.” 

He glimpsed Akhara's wicked smile through the wind whipping her hair about under her hood. 

.***.

Rumarin had to wonder with a name like Nightcaller temple, who in their right mind would agree to drink a crazy unknown potion from a dunmer they'd met a mere hour ago. 

Akhara, apparently. 

And _ oh, _ the conversation leading up to that where they had tried to get Rumarin to drink it instead. 

_ "As a sworn priest of Mara, the elixir won't work for me." _

_ Daenlyn was the first one to say "Y'ffre" under his breath. Inigo made a noise, and said he was definitely done drinking strange things and something about dragonflies. _

_ Rumarin felt Akshara's eyes on him before she even spoke. "Can you drink it?" _

_ "Oh, I don't think it'll work for me, if, you know, it won't work for you." He nodded to Erandur. _

_ "Why, are you a priest?" _

_ "No… how do you know this won't kill me?" _

_ "It won't," Erandur said. Annoyance evident in the dunmers voice now. _

_ Rumarin crossed his arms, shooting a glare in Akhara's direction. Who was rolling her eyes as she took the bottle. _

It wasn't that he didn't trust this priest of Mara turned good. No, well… he didn't trust him at all. But Rumarin also knew a liar when he saw one. And so he was utterly unsurprised when they were confronted with two men in purple robes, calling Erandur some other name that sounded like something out of a demon book. And the actual honest to dibella, skull of corruption floating on a platform ahead. 

Rumarin started to get an uncomfortable headache. Was that skull… glowing? 

A voice began speaking. So loud Rumarin thought it might split his head open. He screwed up his face, squinting at the others who were all having the same problem. 

Ugh. Vermina. The taste of salt filled his mouth. 

Where they really going to go out of their way to anger a daedric prince? Another daedric prince, his brain added. Since this deal with the magical dagger pieces may or may not get them all killed dealing with Mehrunes Dagon. 

Oh, he didn't have a problem with Mehrunes Dagon, no. Not that Akhara had bothered to ask how he felt about messing with deadric forces. 

It seemed the rest of the party didn't think much of whatever Vermina said to them either. Because the two men in purple robes were dead before Rumarin could blink and Erandur climbed into the altar to destroy the skull. 

Nothing seemed to change once it was done. Other than that damned purple mist was gone. 

.***.

Rumarin sat back at the windpeak inn, new plate of fish in front of him. Sure he was several septims richer. And he wasn't totally dreading falling asleep here now. But he didn't let anyone know. Rumarin brought a piece of fish to his mouth, ignoring the taste of salt. 

  
  
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.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!! So originally this started out as two separate one-shots involving the Dragonborn and Rumarin that I started writing years ago, then it became... this.


	3. Curious Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group goes to Honningbrew meadery, Rumarin discovers why the well in the center of Riften is always boarded up, and a dremora and a silver mold come back to haunt him.

.***.

Curious Companions

.***.

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.

.

_ Rumarin _

The road to Whiterun was thankfully almost deserted as the four of them made their way south. Rumarin enjoyed the fact that the snow seemed to only fall behind them, lending more and more to brown and white covered hills. Though there was still a permanent frost to the ground. 

He’d been traveling with these three for almost a week now. He couldn't help but notice that Inigo was the nicest one in the group, but he was also closest with Akhara. Which left the two elves to walk together, more often than not. 

“So,” Daenlyn walked in step with him, “you wear college robes. I take it you studied there?” 

“Not quite," Rumarin said, hiding a wince. "These are actually a cheap imitation. Woven and enchanted to look like their more esteemed counterpart. The point is to convince naive patrons the enchantments were performed by a master. They are not.” 

Daenlyn scratched his head. “If you're not a mage and you know it's a gimmick, why buy them?” 

“Well, consider the fact that bandits are twice as naive as the average person looks, thus one ruse leads to another. You’ve seen how I am with those.” 

"So you want to… look like a mage?" Daenlyn seemed to have a hard time following his logic, judging by the look on his face. “At least it lets you make up a story.” 

“Well, the enchantment is far from spectacular, but on occasion it does help me conserve magicka.”

“I find bandits are an excellent form of exercise,” said Daenlyn. “You should be luring them in.” 

“So that explains your outfit I suppose?" Rumarin looked Daenlyn's leather and fur ensamble up and down. "Although I’m not sure. The people here have strange ways of conveying status.” Rumarin kicked a few stray pebbles down the road. “The other day I confused a hunter with a noble and vice versa. The folks here really ought to carry signs so I know who to be courteous to.” 

“I can help you there. If their weapon is bigger than yours, you might as well treat them like a Jarl.” 

“I see your point, but… does that make giants the true rulers here?” 

“Might as well be,” Daenlyn smiled. 

“So how did you three meet?” Rumarin nodded towards where Akhara and Inigo were walking up ahead. 

“By mutual dislike of the Thalmor. Akhara happened upon them escorting me after my arrest, and well,” Daenlyn shrugged, "let's just say she didn't agree with their opinions on certain songs.” 

“Wow, a whole squad?” Rumarin raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh there were just three.” 

Rumarin nodded as if that made sense. Still, three justiciars was nothing to scoff at. 

Rumarin looked out over the tundra. Whiterun was somewhere over the hills. There was a structure in the distance to their left. Over the hills, he could just make out the shapes of people, working away to build… something? 

"What is that?” he wondered out loud. “Do you think the Jarl ordered these ugly statues to be built here?" 

“Let's avoid that," Akhara said from up ahead. "Actually any we come across.”

“Why? What are they?”

“Dragon shrines. They've been popping up ever since the dragon attacks started.”

“How do you know those are dragon shrines?”

“I was at Helgen.”

She was at Helgen? So she'd seen. Word had spread about the dragon attack, dragon sightings had begun to pop up not long after. 

“So did you see? Was Ulfric actually there?”

“He was.”

“Wow.” Rumarin did his best to sound impressed. “Is it true that Ulfric killed it? You know, how all the die hard nords are saying he's-”

“He shouted the dragon into a wall. I didn't see much more than that.”

Rumarin watched her continue on the road without looking back. So if she had been at Helgen, and Ulfric _ had _ shouted… it was possible he was Dragonborn. But Ulfric fighting the dragon? That wasn't a story he'd heard. So far all the rumors from Helgen said the dragon had arrived and saved Ulfric from the Empire's clutches. 

A distant roar thundered up from the hills. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Oh… right. 

Dragon.

“Run,” Inigo said, pulling on the back of Daenlyn’s clothes. “Now!” 

The four of them bolted to an old stone tower overlooking the northern tundra of Whiterun. His lungs were on fire by the time they reached it. Crouching down behind the crumbling stone walls, Rumarin looked up towards the sky over the odd shrine in the distance. 

It's giant wings were beating in the air as it seemed to survey the shrine. The dragon circled the shrine once more and flew off. Disappearing over the mountains to the east. Towards Windhelm, he couldn't help but notice. 

Inigo let out an audible sigh of relief. Deflating a little against the stone. 

“Never thought I’d see a dragon in my lifetime," Rumarin let himself sink against the wall, legs feeling slightly like jelly. "Now all that's left is a dancing bear and a humble Jarl and my life will be complete.” 

“For someone who almost became dragon lunch you certainly have a healthy sense of humor," Akhara said through her teeth. 

“It helps that my parents were troubadours.”

“Troubadours? You mean like traveling minstrels?” Inigo’s ears perked up. 

“Yes, we spent every day around performers from all walks of life. Bards, actors, jesters and musicians. A wellspring of speechcraft you couldn't help but drink from.” 

Akhara mumbled something that sounded like ‘guess you didn't drink much from it’ but he ignored her. 

“That must have been quite an interesting childhood,” Inigo said. 

“It was. It was the jester whom I gravitated to. A nord man, named Otero.” 

“A nord mentor? How did that work?”

“Well Otero was always better with children than adults. Probably because it's easier to make them laugh. You see laughter was important to him. He said it was powerful enough to disarm any foe." 

“So you wanted to become a jester? How did you end up adventuring?” Inigo asked. 

Rumarin told the story of how Otero had disarmed the bandits when he was young. He noticed even Akhara was listening. The four of them desperate for a distraction after the dragon sighting. 

“-and that's when I learned how disarming laughter really is.” 

Inigo laughed. “That explains your card trick!” 

Rumarin forced a smile. 

The four, or well… three of them continued talking for the rest of the way. Akhara didn’t really say much. Rumarin learned that Inigo had been raised by a khajiit and argonian couple, who were assassins. Which explained a lot. Of all of them, Inigo had to be the most deadly with a bow. He would say Inigo was also the quietest, but Akhara had managed to disappear and sneak up on him several times when he wasn't expecting it. 

.***.

It was hard not to visibly relax once they crossed the gates of Whiterun. As much as he wanted to keep up his act of being a traveler, being in a city with an inn, and the possibility of a _ bath _, just made him feel at ease. Sure there were still thieves, and beggars and unscrupulous merchants, but at least in a city he didn’t have to watch him back for thugs… usually. 

Despite all his travelling around Skyrim, he’d never actually been to Whiterun before. It was… as impressive as a nord city could get, he supposed. The main streets were lined with trading posts and shops. His mouth watering as the smell of fresh bread reached his nose. 

Rumaring felt a tug on his robes. 

“Excuse me!" Came a small voice. "Could you spare a coin?” 

Rumarin blinked. It was a child. With dirty blonde hair. 

Rumarin looked ahead to where Akhara and Inigo were walking. No one paying the slightest attention. He slipped his hand into his coin purse and dug out a handful of coins for the girl. 

“Go get some food,” he whispered to her. 

Her eyes widened and the gold. “Oh thank you sir mage!” 

Rumarin winced but let it slide as the girl darted off into the crowd. At least, she hadn't asked him to show her a spell, he thought. 

.***.

Rumarin’s mood was certainly more sour after that. The food at the inn was adequate. Much better than whatever in oblivion they’d eaten in Dawnstar. There was a bard, some blonde haired fellow who liked to sing too much. But the mead, at least the mead was good. 

Maybe a little _ too _ good. 

.

.

.

“Daenlyn,” Rumarin threw an arm around the wood elf, “I'm feeling nostalgic and my ears are thirsty for a song.”

“Yes!” Inigo perked up from his spot next to Deanlyn, “we could sing a duet!” 

“That's an excellent idea,” Daenlyn craned his neck to look at him, his orangish red eyes looking as hazy as Rumarin felt. “Except I don't have my lute.”

“You don't have your lute?” Rumarin sat down next to him. “You lost it?”

“Well… the truth is,” Daenlyn leaned in, bringing up one hand to whisper, “I gambled it away.”

“You're a gambling addict?”

“Oh no,” he laughed. “The truth is much, much worse.” 

Both Rumarin and Inigo held onto Daenlyn’s words, elbows leaning heavily on the table. 

“I'm a romantic,” Deanlyn placed one hand over his chest solemnly. “The gambling just comes with the territory.”

“Well, let’s get you another lute!” Rumarin cried. 

“Oh no, she's the only one who puts up with my fingers. Truth be told I’m barely half a bard without her.”

“So this is the only lute you can play on, and you bet it?”

“Why would you bet something so important to you?” Inigo whinied, half laying on the small table, tankard in one hand. 

“Why indeed. In life, I find the biggest risks net the biggest rewards. Besides, I still have an ace up my sleeve,” he continued. “I lost it to a bandit in a game of ironhearts. Smart right. When you gamble with bandits you don't have to _ win _ your things back. You just go to the nearest Jarl and ask for the bounty.”

Rumarin nodded, “that is an excellent strategy.” He would have to remember that. “Where is it?”

“Well I lost it to an orc, but rather than raid every bandit camp from here to high rock, we should start where mead flows and the people dance. Because if I know my lute she always finds a merry home.” 

“Your lute sounds like a follower of Sanguine.” 

“Maybe she is,” Daenlyn said. 

“Wait,” Inigo leaned in, barely suppressing a laugh. The three of them were hanging on the table. “Where is Akhara?” 

All of them fell over laughing. 

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.***.

Morning brought with it an all too familiar headache. Daenlyn had wandered off in the early hours of the morning, and Inigo was nowhere to be seen. Rumarin sat at the small table in the furthest corner of the Bannered Mare, thanking the divines that patrons weren’t very loud. That is… except for Akhara. Who was currently sitting with her feet propped up on the table in front of him, loudly eating a green apple. And this was the third one. And he wasn't entirely sure where she kept getting them. She had a knack for disappearing and reappearing when he wasn’t looking. He waved the thought away and picked at his plate, scrutinizing each little piece before deeming it edible. You never knew with these inns. 

“You're awfully quiet this morning,” Akhara directed at him while chewing her apple. “Go on, what is it?” 

Rumarin sighed and set his fork down. “So, we're helping a maniac, repair an evil dagger, from the Daedric Prince who caused the Oblivion Crisis?” 

“That's the gist of it.” Akhara said, turning the apple in her hand. “Besides I thought you wanted adventure and gold?”

“I do,” he looked at her strange as she pulled a coin pouch from her belt and tossed it next to his plate. 

“For starters, three hundred gold. Obviously we can split whatever we get for the blade,” she said, biting into her apple once more. 

“Okay! I'll just follow whatever you do anyway.” 

“And, if you're interested in making more… through… less reputable means, which I assume you are since you mentioned forgery, we've a visit to pay to Honningbrew Meadery.” 

Rumarin took another bite of his food. “What does Honningbrew have to do with the mythic dawn fellow?” 

“Nothing. I just happened to be interested in the job. That's all.”

He wasn't exactly planning on staying long, coin or no, but… he needed the gold. And, if she knew more about Helgen and Ulfric, maybe he could overhear something if he stuck around long enough… 

“Here,” something brown and leathery hit Rumarin’s face as Akhara shoved it at him, “Put this on and meet me at the meadery.” 

“I hope this isn't one of those weird ‘we all dress up in leather and-”

“I'm going to stop you right there, we're pretending to be pest control. The meadery has a real problem with skeevers, and wouldn't you know it, has an inspection coming up.”

“So we're what… helping them out of the goodness of our hearts?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him before getting up. “Just… try not to speak.” 

Rumarin stuck his tongue out at her turned back as she walked off. 

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.***.

Not an hour later, Rumarin made his way down Whiterun’s main street heading for the meadery. This bloody leather armor was so uncomfortable. 

“You’ve been told you’re not allowed here. Now turn around and go back the way you came.” 

Rumarin paused on his way out the Whiterun gates. There were several redguards, in what appeared to be matching uniforms, being held up by the local Whiterun watch. 

“We’re causing no trouble,” one of the men spoke up, “all we ask is that we be allowed to look for her.” 

"I don't care what you're doing, after what happened you're lucky I don't toss you in jail. Now get lost."

Rumarin watched as the redguards reluctantly turned to leave the city. Heading in the same direction he was. One of them noticed his staring. 

“You there!” one of the redguards called out to him. “We’re looking for someone in this city, if you can help us out, you’ll be rewarded in gold.” 

“Alright, well I like gold.” Rumarin saw the man frown a bit, taking in the ugly leather uniform he was wearing. Rumarin cleared his throat. “Who are you looking for?”

“A woman… A foreigner in this land. Redguard, like us. She is likely not using her true name. We will pay for any information regarding her location.” 

“Well there’s lots of redguard women here, as in, in Skyrim in general, but also just in Whiterun alone I imagine.” Rumarin could tell the guard was unimpressed with his sarcasm. “Why are you looking for this person,” he added as an afterthought. 

“It’s none of your concern. All you need to know is that we’re paying for information,” the warrior placed a hand on a pouch of gold none too subtly. “She has a scar on her left cheek. We’ll be in Rorikstead if you learn anything.” 

Rumarin watched the redguard soldiers walk away towards the stables. He did know a redguard woman with a scar on her left cheek. One who was waiting for him at the meadery and was also his main source of gold right now. 

But maybe once this was over, it couldn't hurt to just send a letter and collect some extra gold. 

Gold for information was the best kind, in Rumarin’s opinion.

Gold for information was practically free. 

.***.

Rumarin pushed open the door to Honningbrew Meadery, finding Daenlyn, who was talking to a very cranky looking barkeep. Akhara and Inigo stood behind him, all wearing the same ugly leather armor. 

“Ah, as you can see, all my help has arrived.” Daenlyn gave the barkeep a wide smile. “We'll have those vermin cleaned out faster than you can say Y’ffre.” 

The man behind the counter grumbled something as Daenlyn led the way to the basement. 

Pest control. Wasn't exactly what Rumarin had in mind when he'd agreed to work with these three, but then again killing a few skeevers for some decent gold wasn't a bad way to make some easy coin. 

.

.

.

That was, _ if _it had only been skeevers. 

The maniac and his skeever army put up one hell of a fight. His spells had the four of them hiding behind rocky pillars and taking out skeevers while trying to avoid getting electrocuted or impaled with an ice spike.

Rumarin stepped around the pillar to shoot. Akhara grabbed him by the arm and yanked, pulling him around and throwing him on the dirt. A million thoughts ran through his head as he was about to ask _ why the hell she was trying to kill him now of all times? _ When Rumarin watched in slow motion as an ice spike embedded itself in Akhara’s upper arm as she turned. Right where he'd been moments before. 

“Bloody s’wit!” clutching at her right arm she turned, fingers curling to a snap, and she vanished.

Rumarin blinked several times, staring at the space where she had been. 

An invisibility spell? Was she a mage? He hadn't seen her cast anything in the weeks he’d been traveling with them. Honestly, he’d thought Daenlyn was the most magically inclined of the group. 

The skeever maniac made a strangled sound, still casting fire and ice into the air when Akhara reappeared behind him, her staff already under the man’s chin. With one hard motion, he fell still. Ice spikes embedded in the walls slowly dripping onto the ground. 

There was a moment where the whole group took a breath. Rumarin saw Inigo walk up and nudge the corpse with the toe of his boot. Daenlyn emerging from behind a pillar, shoving one last skeever off him. 

“Skeevers?” Rumarin kicked one of the dead rodents out of the way, one hand holding his forearm where a skeever had managed to bite him. “You'd think he’d start with an army of trolls. Or mammoths. Even birds could have been useful. I wonder if he tried those first.” 

"If anyone makes an army of trolls, I will never come back to this land," Inigo said. “Well, we are supposed to destroy the nest, yes?” 

Akhara made a face. “Daenlyn, can you…” she gestured to the nest with her uninjured hand.

The skeever nests caught like kindling. The smell was awful.

“I will see what’s up ahead,” Inigo said, heading down the next tunnel. Daenlyn quickly followed him. 

Rumarin avoided looking at the flames engulfing the nest. Black straw and fur curling in the flames. He resisted the urge to cover his nose with his sleeve. Instead, walking to the other side of the cave, clear away from the flames. He walked over to the wall as Akhara tossed him a small red bottle. Catching it, he pulled the cap off with his teeth and began dabbing it onto the bite on his arm. And Akhara… Akhara began healing the wound in her shoulder… with a spell.

“You're a mage,” he said, his tone accusatory. 

“No.”

“You're casting. A spellsword then?”

“No,” she said irritated. “You conjure bound weapons from another plane of existence but can't cast a healing spell. Yet you're no mage.” 

He blew air through his lips and sighed, “fair enough.” 

She bit her lip as the flesh on her arm reformed and grew together. He could see dark markings on her skin where the armor was torn. It looked like an eye... 

“Any other spells you can cast? So I don't get shocked in the heat of battle, literally,” he added. 

“Sorry to disappoint. It’s more of a birthstone thing. The healing spell is just something you tend to learn in this line of work.” 

Ah, so she was a shadow sign then.

“That all? That's a pretty advanced spell to not know any others.” 

“And so is conjuring bound weapons with such little effort they stay even outside of combat.” 

“Point.” 

“How about you keep your secrets and I'll keep mine, yes?”

“Wow,” he said, rolling his eyes as she stood to walk away, “teach me how to be grumpy and unforgiving, just like you.” 

“Ok. Here's tip number one,” she said as she immediately walked off, leaving him cross armed and scowling in the small tunnel. 

.

.

.

.***.

Further down the tunnel, it opened up into the basement of another brewhouse. Rumarin walked into the main room full of large metal brewers to find Inigo and Daenlyn had already made their way in. 

Akhara walked up to one of the brewing vats, and opened the top hatch. Rumarin watched her uncork the skeever poison, and to his absolute horror, pour the remaining liquid into the mead. 

“No!” he cried. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Akhara whipped her head around to fix him with a fierce stare, “poisoning the vats, what does it look like?” 

“Why!?” 

“Because someone is paying me to.”

Inigo looked between the two of them with worry. Daenlyn already holding a barrel up to take some of the poison mead. 

“You have to poison all of it? You didn't even give me a chance to grab some first!” 

Akhara shifted her weight onto her hip. “Do you… like… Honningbrew mead?” 

“Ahh…” Rumarin closed his mouth before continuing. “I do. I'm a very picky person. It's hard to find a nord beverage that suits my palate. Honningbrew is that drink.”

“We came here,” Akhara said slowly, “as _ pest control _. Did you really think any of us were genuinely, trying to rid this establishment of skeevers?” 

Rumarin stared blankly at her. 

“You should grab whatever bottles you can carry from here,” she said. The look on her face conveying something akin to pity. 

Rumarin let out a groan. Heading to a corner that had several crates of already bottled Honningbrew mead. That _ wasn't _poisoned. 

.

.

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He was convinced she was the redguard the Alik'r were looking for.

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.***.

Riften

.***.

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.

Smells of smoke and honey filled the Bee and Barb. Muffled conversations went on around the inn as Rumarin finished up his dinner. Daenlyn was humming in a corner about to nod off.

Deciding against trying any blackbriar mead, Rumarin decided to just head to bed. Akhara had said they would be spending a few nights in Riften before looking for Daenlyns lute and then heading east to look for the dagger pieces. 

The wooden boards on the stairs creaked as he made his way up. Voices could be heard through the thin walls all around. He wasn't paying much attention. 

“-doesn't tell me much. The only thing that can identify Sabjorn's partner is this odd little symbol.”  
  
“I've seen that symbol before.” 

Rumarin froze inside his rented room. Akhara’s voice echoed through the wooden slats that made up the walls. Who was she talking to? Rumarin pushed himself up on the bed as carefully as he could. And pressing his ear against the wooden wall, listened. 

“-whoever this mysterious marking represents, they'll regret starting a war with me.” The haughty clipped voice said again. War? What war? Aside from the one already happening, he supposed. But Akhara didn’t seem to have any stake in the Civil War, which suited him just as well. 

There were sounds of paper being shuffled before the voice continued, “You should bring this information to Brynjolf immediately. There's also the matter of your payment. I believe you'll find this more than adequate for your services.” Brynjolf? Who was Brynjolf? Who was Akhara talking to? 

“Thank you,” came Akhara’s voice, who sounded anything but pleased. “I’ll report to him tonight.” Rumarin heard her footsteps as she moved. “Also, just as a… precaution perhaps,” Akhara spoke again, “the next time you hire me for a job, it would do best to not leave out any _ details _.” 

“Hmm, I was under the impression that you were the best, if you can’t handle a few surprises on the job then what good are you?” The other voice had lost what little warmth it previously had. 

“You can’t afford not to hire me, and you know exactly why. You’re lucky I didn’t decide to simply incapacitate the man and leave him for you to deal with. Suppose the next job I simply… leave some surprises undiscovered.” 

Were they talking about the skeever maniac they'd fought in the tunnels below the meadery? Though he thought Akhara was in the right on that one. Whoever sent Akhara to do pest control and poison the mead hadn't mentioned that nut job. 

“You’re glib tongue will get you into trouble, girl. Don’t forget, I have the dark brotherhood at my back. Suppose I lose my patience and decide to call them the moment you are of no more use to me.” 

“You make sure to do that Maven,” there was a sound of something scraping on leather. “I’m sure Harel will be understanding.” 

Wait… Maven? As in Maven Blackbriar… she was meeting Maven Blackbriar in the back room of an inn? And who was Harel?

“I think you’ll find coin is a more powerful motivator than blood,” Maven said.

“You assume they’re in it for the money. Not everyone is like you Maven. I thought that was a sentiment you agreed with.” 

He heard the door next door open and Rumarin scrambled back from the wall and moved to the other side of the bed. In his haste he knocked over a wash bowl that hit the floor with a dull thud. He held his breath as the footsteps outside paused. The shadow under door grew larger and he slid down against the bed trying to make it look like he’d be laying down the entire time. 

Eventually he heard footsteps as the shadow retreated. 

She was working for Maven Blackbriar. To do what, he didn’t know, but he would bet money it had to do with what they’d done at the meadery. 

And worse still, she acted like the dark brotherhood was something she was not only familiar with but… wasn't afraid of. And she was going to meet this Brynjolf person later? 

Rumarin had no problem with shady business. No, if anything he was the poster boy. What bothered him was the fact Akhara hadn't mentioned a thieves guild. Ever. Oh he knew they existed, had even done some work by proxy but never met anyone involved directly. Except now it looked like he had. Maybe with this… if he could follow her to the guild somehow... He wondered who would pay for information on this Brynjolf, and possibly, if he was stupidly lucky, the location for the guild and whoever else was involved. 

He waited a few moments, making sure he heard Akhara's footsteps on the stairs. And slipped out of his room and down to the main tavern. 

It was crowded enough that he didn't stand out. Thank the gods. Rumarin made his way to the door, squeezing through the patrons and out into the night. 

It was strangely calm at night in Riften. The cool dark sky oddly soothing compared to the warm smokey interior of the Bee and Barb. 

.

.

.

If only the smell of canal water would go away. 

There didn't seem to be many folks out this late. There were a few, drunks walking the streets and laughing. But he wasn't looking for that. No, he was looking for someone who moved quietly. 

The thing about Akhara was that she didn't bother to be stealthy. He saw her descend to the lower level of the city, the wooden walkway one step above the canal. And by the time he looked over the edge she was gone. Only sign of her passing was a wooden door just coming to a close. 

Rumarin knew about the ratways. The large system of interconnected tunnels that ran under Riften and served as sewers and home to many of the beggars. And, supposedly, the thieves guild, but no one was ever able to find it. You were much more likely to get lost looking. 

Rumarin had to admit, crawling through sewers to find some thieves wasn't his idea of a good time. 

But he needed gold. And he now knew where at least one entrance to the ratways was. 

.***.

The tunnels were surprisingly well lit. Torches lined the walls every few hundred steps. He hadn't seen anyone else down here. Nevertheless he knew he wasn't alone. It was an eerie feeling. 

Something caught his eye on one of the tunnel walls. One of the stones had a… marking. Rumarin knelt down to get a better look, as he moved the light from the torch shifted. The spot on the stone flickering white for a moment before becoming a faded grey against the stone. 

It was a circle, with a small half arrow pointing west. 

This had to be it. 

He kept following until he saw another one. This one pointing north. And so on. It did occur to him that he hadn't told anyone where he was going. And had no way to retrace his steps. Better not to think about that, he decided. Besides, when had he ever really thought his plans through? 

He kept going until he noticed a new mark. This one looked… different. In fact, it looked exactly like the tattoo he had caught glimpses of on Akhara's right forearm. He'd thought it was an eye, but no, it was a small upright diamond with a circle in the center. And turning the corner next to it, was a small wooden door. 

He placed his hand on the handle. He couldn't hear anything immediately beyond it. The only sounds he'd heard so far being water and odd clanks and noises that were too far away. 

Holding his breath, he pushed it open. 

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He emerged into a larger circular cavern. Water lapping at the small stone walkway maybe two person width across. The entire cavern floor was filled with water, making it like a small pond. And on the other side, there was some wooden structures, and light. He could see some candles and tables with a few people. But it was too far away to make out any details from where he stood, in the small alcove covered in darkness. 

He went to stand up and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Sharp pain shot through his right ear as someone else's nails dug into the sensitive tip. 

“Well well, what do we have here?” said a voice to his right. 

He cringed and looked over, as much as he could without twisting his ear further. A breton woman, with white hair and a cruel sneer stood next to him. If he stood up all the way she probably couldn’t even reach him, he shifted his weight, and that was when he noticed the dagger she had poised at his side. 

“Don’t worry I won’t kill you, yet. Not before I find out how you found us.”

“Who is ‘us’?” Rumarin decided to play dumb.

“Stop talking,” the woman clipped, “Just come with me, I’ll tell you when to talk.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief when she let go of his ear. But she kept the dagger at his back. Rumarin rubbed the tip of his ear before he was shoved forward towards a small boardwalk, into the light. 

As they crossed into the tavern area, he saw Akhara and Inigo sitting at a table not far from him. Inigo looked surprised to see him, his furry brows arched as his red eyes reflected the candle light. Akhara however, looked completely unsurprised. Her gaze on him was hard, never leaving is face. 

“I do hope you’re done dragging strays in here,” the woman with the hold on him said. 

“Relax Vex,” Akhara waved a dismissive hand at them.

For not the first time in his life, and certainly not the last, Rumarin realized he was in completely over his head. Akhara had known exactly what he'd heard and that he had followed her. 

“He found it didn’t he? Isn’t that the trial to join? Or did the rules change?” 

“The rules change when you lead people down here on purpose!” Vex snapped. “He could be a spy. All we need is for some sod to tip off the guards to our location.” 

Akhara snorted dismissively. “Where you planning on telling the guards?” she directed at him. Smile playing on the corners of her mouth. 

“No?”

Vex rolled her eyes, “That's convincing.” 

“Oh come on, I was just hoping you weren’t involved in the civil war. You don’t know how glad I am to find smugglers and thieves instead of stormcloaks.” 

“Have you ever stolen anything?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I have.”

“And _ not _ gotten caught.” 

“Okay, look most of what I do revolves around forgery and grave robbing.”

“You a member of the summerset shadows?” Vex raised the knife again. 

Rumarin snorted to hide a laugh, “the what?” 

“Really, Vex?” Akhara said from her spot at the table. 

“Forgery?” came another unfamiliar voice. Rumarin looked over to see a nord man with dark hair. “You have anything to do with… ah… some argonian fellow? 

Rumarin blinked at the man. He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You mean that knifepoint job?” 

“Yeah…” the nord nodded, “hey Vex, I think I know him.”

“You know him?” Vex looked murderous. “Vipir, I swear-” 

“Yeah, he’s one of the foragers I hired to help with that job for the mine.” 

All eyes were on him now. Vex still snarling at him. 

“Might as well let him join Vex.” Akhara’s voice surprised him. She was advocating for him to join? However it didn’t look like he had much of an option, he didn’t think they would be too keen on him walking out of here without knowing he wouldn’t sell them out. 

“We could use a forager.” Vipir added before cowering under Vex’s glare. “I’m just saying Vex, he’s got no reason to turn us in if we’re the ones paying.” 

“Sure, why not.” Rumarin tried to shrug as much as Vex’s hold on him would allow. “it's not like I don't do those things already.” 

“There you go. Already a criminal.” Akhara crossed her feet on the table raised her tankard as if to point at him. “Why not?” 

“He has been traveling with us as is,” Inigo spoke up. “I do not see the harm in letting him know.” 

“You’re both too soft,” Vex snipped again as she pulled the dagger away from his side, shoving him forward slightly. 

“You don’t tell a soul about what you see down here,” Vex growled at him before stalking off in the direction of a cabinet towards the back. 

Rumarin instinctively moved closer to where Akhara and Inigo sat. Pulling out a chair for himself. Keeping one eye on Vex who stormed off, just in case she was meaner than Akhara and came back to _ actually _ stab him. 

“That looked painful,” Inigo said, nodding to his ear. 

“It was, I’m very sensitive. Is this how you greet newcomers down here? I guess I shouldn't expect too much. I'm in a sewer.” 

“You are lucky she didn’t make you fight Dirge over there,” Akhara nodded to the large burly looking man they’d passed on the way into the cistern. Who was still staring at him. When he breathed the muscles in his neck flexed. 

“Why? Is that common?” 

Akahra let out a harsh bark that sounded like a laugh.

“So, wait…” Rumarin frowned, “you're both thieves. That whole business with the Honningbrew meadery?” 

“Was to sabotage the meadery for the inspection, to ensure it goes under so that Maven Black-Brair can take it over.” 

“If she’s going to take it over, but leave that pale fellow in charge, I just don't get why Maven doesn't rebrand it as something else.” 

“Like what?” Akhara crossed her arms, raising one eyebrow. 

“Well how about Black-Briar Golden? You change the name, keep the taste. Maybe it's not too late.” Rumarin rambled. “I can see it now. Maven says ‘Sorry I ruined your business Sabjorn, but your mead was just too tasty!’ And Sabjorn would say ‘Is that the reason? I thought you just didn't like me. Why didn't you say so sooner!’ and Maven would be like ‘I don't know! No hard feelings then?’ And then they would laugh and share a sweetroll.” 

It was Akhara’s turn to stare blankly at him for a moment. “Well,” she looked over to Inigo sat. “That is a… great idea. Less work involved for her. You're full of great ideas.” 

“I am?”

Akhara nodded with such a genuine look on her face that Rumarin was having a hard time telling if she was being sarcastic. 

“I mean of course I am. It all comes from having a wealth of experience and an extremely finicky stomach. You should solicit me for advice more often,” Rumarin said, noticing a red haired man in black leather armor making his way toward their table. 

_ Great. What now. _

The man was smiling as he approached, throwing an arm around Akhara. “What's this I hear about poor Sabjorn has found himself in Whiterun's prison. How unfortunate for him.”  
  
“Indeed,” Akhara nodded.  
  
The man looked at the three of them, eyes stopping on Rumarin. “Who's this?” 

“Ru, he's a forager. Helped with the meadery. Ru, this is Brynjolf.”

Rumarin felt Brynjolf eye him up and down. He decided that now probably wasn't the best time to explain that _ he _ didn't forage things, per se. 

Brynjolf simply nodded at him before turning back to Akhara. “Maven sent word that you'd discovered something else while you were out there. Something important?”

“Yes,” Akhara nodded, slipping a piece of paper from her pocket with two fingers. “The same symbol from Goldenglow was involved.”  
  
Brynjolf frowned, sitting down at their table and unfolding the note. “Then this is beyond coincidence. First Aringoth and now Sabjorn. Someone's trying to take us down by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild.” 

Rumarin looked from Brynjolf to Akhara, her face betraying nothing. He glanced at Inigo, hoping for some sort of answer, but all he got was a shrug.   
  
Brynjolf spoke again, “Mercer thinks he knows a way to identify this new thorn in our side. He wants to meet with you right away.”

“After I finish my beer,” Akhara said, no longer paying Brynjolf any heed. 

“I were you, I'd hurry. I've never seen him this angry before.” Brynjolf stood to leave, placing one hand over her knee. “Good to have you back lass.”

Rumarin watched as the red haired man disappeared behind the bar. “So... help me out here, who is Mercer?” 

“He’s the guildmaster,” Akhara said. 

“You don't sound too happy about that.” 

“You are very observant,” she quipped. 

“We were both members in the imperial city,” Inigo offered. “They… do things a bit differently here.” 

Rumarin nodded. “What is it you’re trying to do exactly?” 

“Find out who’s trying to sabotage the guild… among other things,” Akhara said. “I was sent here by Harel, the guildmaster in Cyrodiil.” 

“And you two met because…” 

“On a job.” They both supplied. Far too quickly for Rumarin’s liking.

Rumarin wasn't certain as to Akhara's rank in the guild. She reported to Brynjolf, but didn't seem to take orders. She didn't wear the same badge he'd seen on Brynjolf and Vex, who seemed to be in charge but she wasn't the leader either.

Akhara stood up, gesturing for him to follow. Rumarin got up reluctantly. Wherever they were going, he’d certainly found the thieves guild. Now the only question was, who would pay for that information. She led him through a hidden door masquerading as dresser and into a smaller stone tunnel. 

They stepped out into a large cistern, beds and cabinets lined the walls. Soft light from lanterns bounced around the chamber. A single pillar of moonlight shining down from a hole in the top of the ceiling. They must be directly under the market. So much for drinking the water. He'd always wondered why the well was boarded off.

Inigo followed him into the cistern. His cat-like eyes reflecting the light as he looked around.

Akhara seemed to ignore everyone who was milling about inside the thieves main hideout. Instead, making her way through a short tunnel that led directly to a long desk where a breton man stood with his back to them. 

Judging by the statue of the grey fox and various notes and piles of coin around the desk, Rumarin guessed this had to be the guildmaster. Mercer.

Akhara cleared her throat. Standing before the desk, hands on her hips. 

“Ah, there you are. I've consulted my contacts regarding the information you recovered from Goldenglow Estate, but no one can identify that symbol.” Mercer looked up, his gaze flickering to Rumarin for an instant before locking back on Akhara. “And who is this?” he said, waving a hand with impatience. 

“Forager.” Her answer kept getting shorter. Rumarin wondered if someone kept asking if she would just say one syllable. 

Mercer merely grunted in response. 

“I found the same marking at Honningbrew Meadery that was at Goldenglow,” Akhara said.

“It would see our adversary is attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. Very clever.” 

“Any leads?”

“Yes, even after all their posturing and planning, they've made a mistake. The parchment you recovered mentions a "Gajul-Lei". According to my sources, that's an old alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei. Slimy bastard.”

“Argonian?” Akhara guessed. 

“Yes. He’s our inside man at the East Empire Company. I'm betting he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow Estate and that he can finger our buyer. Get out there, shake him down and see what you come up with.” Mercer waved them away.

Akhara rolled her eyes, casting Rumarin a glance before looking back at Mercer’s turned back. “Aren't you forgetting something?” 

“What?” Mercer snapped, before looking over his shoulder and seeing Rumarin standing there. “Oh… welcome to the guild.” 

.***.

This time when they sat down, it seemed to be for good. Rumarin allowed himself to relax a little as they sat at the Ragged Flagon, learning from Inigo the names of some of the other guild members and drinking something that he couldn't exactly call mead, but it was better than the Black-briar stuff. 

The red headed man, Brynjolf, joined their table again. 

“I can't believe Gulum-Ei's mixed up in all this; that Argonian couldn't find his tail with both hands. Don't get me wrong. He could scam a beggar out of his last septim, but he's no mastermind.”

“Sounds exactly like someone I should know,” Rumarin said.

“Do you think he'll give me trouble?” Akhara asked. 

“Trouble?” Brynjolf laugh. “He's one of the most stubborn lizards I've ever met! You have your work cut out for you.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Akhara said, stretching her arms back and popping joints. “Don't worry Brynjolf I'll get what we need. You know, where I come from, tailing someone in the city is kind of our rite of passage.” 

“If I know Gulum-Ei,” Brynjolf said through a mouthful of bread, “he's in way over his head and you'll be able to use it as leverage. And with his fingers in the East Empire Company's pie, we'll make good use of that debt. If I'm not being clear enough, that means we _ don't _ want him killed.”

“Relax, Brynjolf.” Akhara brushed him off and stood up. Walking towards the other hallway that led to the main cistern. 

“I'd relax more if you weren't so knife happy!” he called after her. Her only response was to throw a wink over her shoulder. Brynjolf ran a hand over his face, “That woman…” 

Rumarin watched the whole thing from his spot at the table. Perhaps he was reading too deep but did Akhara and Brynjolf have a thing going? Or just an unspoken one. 

He decided it was best not to think about those things right now, because Brynjolf had turned toward him. “What kind of forgery did you say you do?” 

He hadn't. But this man was smooth. When he spoke his eyes regarded you as if you were the only thing in the room. This could be a problem. 

“Oh, nothing fancy, just some basic forgery if you want someone’s handwriting copied. I don’t really do official seals and such, but I know someone who does. I also happen to know someone who can make fake replicas of armor and weapons but just don't ask him to replicate a personality.”

“Good, good,” Brynjolf rubbed his chin. “I may have a proposition then.” 

.***.

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As planned they spent a few days in Riften stocking up before heading out again. Off to Solitude so Akhara could tail a man. And Rumarin had been given a list of shop owners who needed some business ledger entries foraged. This time they traveled along the rocky ridge north of the lake. Keeping an eye out for a certain orc bandit. 

Who they happened to find milling about an old tower. But no lute. That is, until they noticed the dunmer living in the tower was playing doorman for a party going on upstairs. 

Rumarin noticed the scent of nightshade and elderberries as they walked up the steps. He should have expected it, really. It certainly _ smelled _like Sanguine. 

The dremora at the top of the tower, Dravos, was only too welcoming. 

“Ahh, there she is.” Daenlyn brushed his fingers over the lute and strummed it experimentally. “And it’s in good shape, all things considered. Granted I don't know much about Dremora but I never pictured them to be musically inclined.”

“We’re always happy to make new friends,” Dravos said, “and old ones.” 

Rumarin didn't miss the look Dravos gave him. And neither did Akhara. 

“You know them?” she asked, her face breaking into a smile and he knew she was going to give him a hard time. 

“No,” Rumarin lied. 

Dravos laughed. “Don’t be shy friend, Sanguine is always happy to see his followers pursuing their best interests. So long as they line up with his, that is.” 

Rumarin felt Akhara’s stare fix on him. “You just keep getting more and more interesting don’t you?” she said. 

He swallowed. 

“A follower of Sanguine,” she smiled, showing teeth. “Don’t worry, I don’t have anything against him. I’m beginning to see why you have such a hard time being serious.” 

“In any case,” Daenlyn came up behind them, lute in hand, “should I play a song? It seems fitting, given where we are.” 

“Sure,” Akhara grinned, “After all this build up it would be funny if your singing was terrible.” 

“Well the Thalmor certainly thought so.” 

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Akhara and Daenlyn began drinking themselves under the table and gambling. Surprisingly winning quite a bit off the other patrons. Daenlyn was quite content to play the night away and act as if he hadn't a care in the world. Which, all things considered, he admired. Rumarin silently wondered if the others at the table were even aware of the fact they were under a daedra's influence right now. 

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.***.

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As they made their way to Falkreath before heading up to Solitude, Inigo and Akhara filled him and Daenlyn in about some silver mold they were looking to steal back to return to its rightful owner. Rumarin had a sneaking suspicion he knew _ exactly _ what mold they were describing. One he had smuggled himself, among a number of other things. 

His suspicions were confirmed when they came upon a familiar looking house, with a sign out front stating there was firewood for sale. 

“This must be the place,” Akhara pocketed her note with the location of the mold. She walked up and was about to knock on the front door. 

“Wait,” Rumarin stepped forward, “I recognize this place. This is pinewatch. I should mention they don't like me here.” 

Akhara rolled her eyes. 

“Should we expect a fight?” Inigo said, “I thought this silvermold was stolen by bandits?” 

“Maybe they’re trying to sell it and we’re generous enough to take it off their hands.” She knocked on the wooden door, sharply. 

There was a pause as they heard someone shuffling about inside. After a moment, the door cracked open. “Yes?” a gruff voice spoke behind the door, attached to a bald head with a bushy, black beard. 

“I heard you’re looking to sell silver,” Akhara said. 

The eyes narrowed through the crack in the door. “I’m afraid you heard wrong, only thing I sell here is firewood.” The door began to close and Akhara shoved her foot inside of it, one hand grabbing the handle. 

“Ah ah ah,” Akhara smiled sweetly, “I think my hearing’s just fine. You see I was told you deal in silver, molds, specifically.” 

The man, who Rumarin remembered now was Rhorlak, regarded the four of them for a moment before opening the door. “Aye, alright. Come one in.” Rumarin made sure his hood hid most of his face. 

Akhara nodded and stepped through the door, the three of them following after. Rumarin stayed in the back, leaning against the fireplace and cooking pit. Akhara spoke the moment all of them were inside, “so, who do I talk to about a price?” 

“Aye uh, that would be me.” 

“What's your offer then?” 

“Uh, ten thousand septims.” 

Was he always this stupid? Rumarin seemed to remember Rhorlak as not being the brightest but maybe he’d taken a few blows to the head since he was here last. 

“Ha,” Akhara barked, “I meant what are you going to offer me for not killing you and just taking it?” 

The air in the room snapped. Rhorlak’s entire demeanor shifted from guarded to menacing at Akhara’s remark. “You'll never get past Rigel- wait,” Rhorlak squinted in his direction. “You! You're that elf that tried to-” 

“Catch!” Rumarin threw a cooking pot at Rhorlak who caught it. In his fumbling Akhara clubbed Rhorlak on the back of the head, knocking him out cold. Rumarin felt all three sets of eyes land on him. He cleared his throat, “Okay, I should explain. So I tried to instigate one of the bandits into starting a mutiny and breaking into the treasure room. As you can see, it wasn't successful.”

Daenlyn let out a small laugh. 

“So where do they keep the treasure? Assuming the silver mold will be there,” Akhara said. 

“Yes, about that,” Rumarin walked over to the stairs and led them to the large bookcase with the hidden button. “The treasure is guarded by a bunch of traps, and gods know whatever else now. Rigel Strong-arm is the leader here. She has some sort of obsession with locking gold in dark dirty rooms. I assume it's because she’s a nord.” 

The wooden bookcase slid open to reveal a long, winding dirt tunnel. 

“Lucky for us, you know the way, yes?” Inigo clapped him on the shoulder and leaned forward, sniffing the tunnel. 

“Lucky for us,” Rumarin repeated, feeling anything but lucky, as he stepped into the dark tunnel, taking care not to tip over the crate of wine bottles by the door. 

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So he got a little turned around at one point, but over all he’d been able to remember where everything was laid out. But it looked like they’d done quite a bit of digging since he left. THe four of them quietly snuck through the winding tunnels. It was surprisingly quiet. They hadn't run into a single bandit… yet. Eventually Rumarin led them into the main area the bandits used as a bar… and a bedroom, apparently. Because there were several bandits asleep on the straw covered floor.

Stepping over a sleeping orc, Rumarin wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell of mead mixed with vomit. The telltale sounds of conversation drifted to his ears from around the fake wooden wall to his left. It sounded like some bandits were playing a card game. 

Akhara had vanished again. Bloody shadow signs. He, Daenlyn and Inigo were left to sneak by the sleeping bandits. Inigo wasn’t doing too badly, Rumarin saw him sneak around the makeshift wooden wall that acted as a barrier between the beds and the bar. There were a few more bandits on the other side of the chamber, and unless he learned how to cast invisibility in the next six seconds, there was no way he was sneaking past them unseen. 

Fortunately, it looked like they wouldn't have too. The bartender started choking and collapsed. The other bandits looked up from their card game, spotting what no doubt was Akhara leaping over the bar as Inigo and Daenlyn rushed forward. He conjured his sword and joined them. 

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Apparently their noise wasn't enough to bring anyone rushing from the other tunnels. As Rumarin led them into what used to be a dining area and Rigel’s room. Only now it was decorated with bone chimes. He suspected that was partially his fault. 

They snuck along the wall, trying to avoid the hanging bone traps. Akhara took the lead, Rumarin following close behind, tapping her shoulder to point to the obscured doorway to the left that led to the treasury room. 

Only as he did so he realized he’d stepped to the side, brushing against one of the bone chimes as it's rope triggered all of them to start jangling. 

The four of them froze. 

“I told you idiots to stay away from my treasure!” a voice bellowed from behind him. Rumarin turned to see Rigel, in full armor, with her war axe aimed towards him. He instinctually ducked while summoning his sword. Rigel swung her axe towards him. Rumarin barely had time to process the shape of Akhara as she stepped around the side, and grabbing the handle of Rigel’s axe from underneath. The two of them locked in a struggle as Rigel tried to pummell her with her shield. Only to have Akhara kick it away. Now holding the axe handle against Rigel’s chest, pinning her to the wall. 

“Where’s the bloody silver mold!” Akhara demanded. 

Rigel’s response was to spit at her face. 

Akhara closed her eyes out of frustration before cocking her head to the side, and ramming her knee up into Rigel’s abdomen. Rumarin winced as he was sure he heard something crack. Deanlyn swore something about his woodland gods as Akhara shoved Rigel off, letting her fall to the ground. 

Rigel coughed a few times, one arm around her middle as she looked up at the rest of them. “You bloody horker, you just had to keep trying to steal my gold huh?” That last bit clearly directed at him. 

Akhara let out an exasperated sigh, “or we can just kill you and take it. Makes no difference to me.” 

“Ha,” Rigel looked from Akhara back to him, “I reckon even if you kill me, there's bigger fish comin’ for you-” 

Akhara ended Rigel’s sentence with the war axe Rigel had originally been carrying. Inigo made a sound behind him that sounded exactly as queasy as Rumarin felt. 

Akhara tossed the war axe aside and looked back at him, nodding towards the tunnel, “That way, yes?” 

Rumarin could only nod. He wasn’t sure if he was glad to be traveling with someone who could disarm a bandit and kill them with their bare hands, or terrified. 

He settled on glad.

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All that was left for them now was to get to the treasury room without setting off the traps and dying horribly. Easier said than done. Since Daenlyn had almost tripped over a plate and Inigo had pulled Rumarin back from getting his head turned into goo by a giant swinging log. 

They were now at a long, incredibly thin walkway suspended over a chamber, with a pressure plate sitting on the middle of it. 

“How can that pressure plate possibly be attached to anything?” he said. Rigel had certainly set up enough traps, some of them had to be duds. “I say we just walk across. It’s a bluff.” 

“You want to be the one to test that, friend?” Inigo said over his shoulder. Akhara ignored them, purposely pushing down on the plate with the toe of her boot. And… 

Nothing 

Rumarin clapped, pleased to see the hint of a smile tugging at Akhara lips as the four of them made their way to the treasure room. 

.***.

They took everything. And after what he went through to get to it, Rumarin didn’t feel bad filling his pockets in the slightest. He’d easily swiped over three hundred gold from the coffin filled to bloody brim, with septims. Inigo had shoved his clawed hands into the mass of coins and laughed, bringing them up to watch the gold coins scatter over the pile of gold and gems. Daenlyn was admiring the silver mold, and Akhara was pocketing as much gold as she could carry. And then some. 

The four of them made their way to Falkreath and Akhara gladly paid for rooms at the Dead man's drink and they settled in for the night. Inigo was singing to Mr. Dragonfly while Daenlyn picked away at his lute. 

Akhara sank into the seat next to him with, thank the gods, mead. “How did you know about Pinewatch?” 

“So…” he twirled his fork, “I have debt. A lot of it, in fact.” 

“How?” 

“How does anyone? I needed fast coin and agreed to repay it but never really did. In fact, I may have also cheated at a card game or two.” 

“Shocking, truly," she gave him a deadpan stare as she sipped her mead. 

“Alright so I may have been the one to smuggle that damn silver mold there in the first place. I was just trying to get some extra gold. And really, can you fault me for trying? Also, I hope you have somewhere we can deposit all this gold, because as much as I want to keep it, I am _ not _ dragging these bags around with me everywhere we go.” 

“You’re awfully picky for an adventurer,” her smile reaching her eyes. “Yes, we can send it to Riften, Brynjolf can send writs for it. Besides, he owes me.” 

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, Rumarin... I always imagined he was behind the silver mold being stolen, especially since he was IN Markarth before going to yorgrim overlook according to some of the npc's dialogue. Did anyone else find it odd that he 'knows' so many of the shady places? lol  
Also, I have drawn Akhara in the past on tumblr[ here](https://pinadraws.tumblr.com/post/183927229922/pinacoladamatata-tfw-youre-in-love-with-your) and [ here](https://pinadraws.tumblr.com/post/183620696242/pinacoladamatata-found-some-inspiration-for-my?is_related_post=1)


	4. Dainty Sloads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bandits, hagravens, and pirates oh my!

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Dainty Sloads

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_ Rumarin _

  
  


They left Falkreath later the next day. In much higher spirits and with heavier purses. Rumarin was glad to have the pinewatch business behind him. 

Apparently one of the dagger pieces was held by some bandit gang holed up in a keep to the west. Kept by a bandit leader named Ghunzul. Not that Rumarin generally cared about the names of bandits, but this one seemed to _ love _ traps. More than Rigel had. 

This trap thing, was of course, only found out _ after _ they had killed said bandit and nearly gotten impaled in the keeps dungeon trying to find the dagger pieces. Inigo seemed to be capable of hearing the traps moments before poison spikes would shoot out of the walls. Oddly enough, Akhara seemed to hear them too. Rumarin cursed his elven ears that seemed only good for show. 

All in all, raiding the bandit hideout was a success. They now had the blade pieces. Only to find the pommel and the hilt for Silas, and then he could get paid. Well, _ Akhara _ would get paid and distribute the wealth. This, combined with whatever he raided from pinewatch and with what Brynjolf would pay him for the simple forgeries, just may be enough to start paying off his debt. At the very least buy him some time. 

Only problem was, to get the pommel they had to travel to the reach. This was the second time Rumarin had to travel through the reach. And in his opinion, two times was enough. Nothing but rock and dead trees and twisting roads. Forsworn bandits lurking behind every rocky outcropping. Witches, probably. 

Rumarin swore he saw a land dreugh out of the corner of his eye once at night. Oh, and the hagravens. Because Rumarin wasn't the only one with a terrible memory and tendency to bet things when drunk. Apparently, Daelyn had bet his lute, _ while _it had a living tree sprite inside of it. 

And the tree sprite, happened to be sold to a hagraven. Not that any of them knew this right up until they’d run into said tree sprite in a cage after killing the hagraven at _ dead crone rock. _ Rumarin would’ve laughed at the irony, except he was too busy trying not to wet himself. 

As a general rule, Rumarin avoided the forsworn. So charging headfirst into an entire encampment was very low on his list of things to do. Yet their plan ended up being just that. He’d never had to conjure his sword and bow so many times in quick succession… well not _ never _, but it had been at least twenty five years or so. 

When the final hagraven lay dead at the top of the rocky outcropping and the four of them let out a breath all together. Rumarin’s muscles screamed in relief as he let his bow disperse. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact they’d just taken on a small army, or if it was the stairs up the mountain that really did it. 

He’d never even seen a hagraven up close before. He never wanted to again. 

But they got the pommel. Was it worth it though? Fighting through an army of forsworn with just the four of them? In his opinion, probably not. But he was desperate for gold, and getting that by standing behind Akhara and Inigo seemed like a quick way to do it. And he’d gotten to make a joke about how they now _literally_ had one of Dagon’s balls. 

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.***.

Daenlyn took his leave shortly after finding Mithril. Wanting to get back to the lumber mill, saying he had a lot of apologizing to do. Rumarin felt a little more lonely after he left. Now being the only elf in the group, and Inigo was the only one really willing to entertain his jokes and mindless babbling while they were on the road. 

Akhara mostly ignored him. Unless she wanted something, like for him to somehow come up with something to cook while on the road when all they had was a firepit and some sticks. 

He’d briefly wondered if she was secretly a noble or an heiress of some sort. She refused to go more than three days of travel without stopping at an inn or at the very least, a river, and bathing. But she seemed too willing to do dirty and frankly dangerous jobs. His case in point, that whole deal with Nightcaller temple and now this dagger business. But maybe she was one of those weird ones who had a deathwish? 

He hadn't forgotten about the Alik'r soldiers who’d approached him in Whiterun either. The more he thought on it, the more certain he was that Akhara was the woman they were looking for. How many redguard women were there with a long scar on their left cheek anyway? And in Skyrim? 

It couldn't hurt to see what they wanted. They had said a reward for ‘any information’. So, if he were to just let them know that she existed and was somewhere in Skyrim, maybe he could get some extra gold and be on his way. Breaking ties with them before ever having to worry about these Alik'r catching up with Akhara. 

So when they passed through Rorikstead on their way to Solitude, he saw one of them. An Alik'r soldier waiting in the inn. He left a note. Only stating he would be heading to Solitude, and would exchange information for coin. 

  
  


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.***. 

  
  


When they arrived in Solitude, he’d expected Akhara would be handling the business of finding this argonian fellow for Mercer on her own. They’d rented rooms at the Winking Skeever and Rumarin had planned to wait out this business with a nap before going around and forging business ledgers. Instead, the innkeeper had asked his name, and silently handed him a folded note. 

The Alik'r wanted to meet at the stables. And he was supposed to bring Akhara. That didn't sit well with him. Why was he supposed to bring her? The deal had been only for information. Not actual delivery of a person. 

Inigo had gone off the bards college. And Akhara was still gone. Against his better judgement, if he had any, he decided to go down to the stables alone. At least, the Alik'r probably wouldn't kill him. 

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.***.

“What business do you have here, friend?” A voice greeted him when he approached the stables, a redguard man stepping out from behind the grain mill. 

Rumarin swallowed, noticing the few others dressed as civilians who’d stopped what they were doing to watch him approach. Lovely. Undercover soldiers, then. Rumarin cleared his throat, “I know the woman you’re looking for.” 

The man's eyes widened, “you do? Where is she?” 

“Hold on,” Rumarin frowned. Despite what some people may think of him, he didn’t want to get Akhara killed. She was dangerous, but that also kept him safe for the time being. “I want to know why you’re after her.” 

The soldier’s gaze narrowed on his face, “Alright, come. Let us talk a moment and no one has to die.” 

“Well that’s good, since I was rather hoping no one would die in the first place but now my fears are assuaged,” he said sarcastically. 

“I am Kematu. You know where our friend may be residing?” 

“Rumarin. And I never said I knew anything,” Rumarin held up a finger, “I said I think I know who you’re looking for and offered coin for information. There’s a difference.” 

“Well, if you’re here, that means you know there’s coin to be had.” 

“Yes, but I want to know what do you actually want with her?” 

“What do you suspect we want with her? We are soldiers of the Alik'r.” 

“Executioners?”

“Executioners? No. Nothing so crass. She is wanted by the noble houses of Taneth for treason. We were hired to see her returned to Hammerfell for her crimes.” 

Well, that didn’t sound so bad, Rumarin thought. Then again, he wasn’t sure what the punishment was for treason in Hammerfell. “What crimes exactly?” 

“She sold the city out to the Aldmeri Dominion.” 

Rumarin frowned. That made no sense. Akhara hated the Thalmor. She’d killed an entire patrol just for walking by, according to Daenlyn... unless that was because they’d left her for dead after she’d been discovered. He could relate to that sentiment. 

“Convince her to come here,” the man said. “We cannot go after her. Not without drawing attention. You must bring her to us.”

“Easier said than done,” Rumarin scoffed, “she’s kind of the type to go where she pleases.” 

“Well where is she now?” 

Rumarin looked between a couple of the soldiers before answering. “In Solitude.” 

“Lead her here. We’ll be waiting.”

“What about coin? For information.” 

“Bring her to us first. Then you’ll have you coin. I promise you.” 

.***.

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Rumarin had been bouncing the pommel off the wall of the tavern and it landed short and rolled across the floor, coming to rest at his foot. Sighing, he picked it up again. He was probably on some list that daedra kept now for disrespecting some powerful artifact. If daedra kept lists. He figured he was safe from any daedra however, he wasn’t going to be safe from hired thugs and pirates if he didn’t find a way to pay back his debt, which included his current, most recent dilemma; how to get Akhara to go down the Solitude stables near the docks. He had spent several hours daydreaming multiple scenarios of how to get her to even go down to the stables with him in the first place, and what he would do if it went wrong. It was near the docks, and he supposed he could slip onto a ship or hide in one of the alleyways around there. Rumarin dragged his hands over his tired face. Typical plan, he thought, flee by boat if things went tits up. 

His stomach growled. Time for dinner then, because there was no way he was doing this on an empty stomach. 

When it actually came time to set his plan in motion he sat at the table across from Akhara in the Winking Skeever, dread gripping his sides.

"I need to go to the stables.” 

Akhara raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, question evident on her face.

“I need to get in to change their books. Brynjolf’s orders. Could you maybe keep an eye out for the horsemaster, he looked big.” 

She said nothing. 

“I'll give you fifty gold,” he offered.

Her head tilted ever so slightly, “Alright, I was on my way there anyway.” 

.***.

He was nervous. Definitely. Even if everything went smoothly and they just took Akhara away, he wasn’t looking forward to having to cross paths with Inigo again. Inigo who was still at the bards college and would no doubt get back and wonder where they had gone. Inigo, who more than likely would be able to track him down. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea… 

He felt Akhara stiffen beside him as she noticed the soldiers hiding in the shadows. 

“What the fuck is this?” she hissed under her breath. One hand going for her dagger. 

“Oh come now,” Kematu stepped out of the shadows. “You really didn’t expect to manipulate people forever did you? Your luck had to run out sometime.”

“Excuse me?” Akhara’s voice cut through the night air. 

“It’s over Iman, you-” Kematu stepped closer, “you…” he glanced from Akhara to Rumarin, eyes narrowing. The three of them waited in silence. Nerves increasing as they noticed the other soldiers hidden around the stables. “You are not her,” Kematu said finally. 

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Wait. _ What. _

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“I’m not who exactly?” Akhara threw out. Oh he was screwed. By Dibella, he was screwed. 

Kematu ran a hand over his face. “This is the woman you meant?” Kematu directed at him.

Rumarin flinched as Akhara turned her cold gaze onto him. Realization dawning in her eyes. 

“Not sure what you mean. You asked if I knew a redguard woman, I do. This is her.” 

“Stupid elf,” Kematu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, We’re looking for a redguard woman, who indeed has a scar on the left side of her face, but this isn't her.” 

“Well if you know what she looks like why don’t you just draw a picture? Have someone make posters?” 

“If,” Akhara started, “you would all be so kind as to shut that kwama you call a mouth and someone explain to me what in Oblivion is going on.” 

Kematu opened his mouth but Rumarin wasn’t about to let this man explain everything away and end up getting them both killed. “Okay, I can explain-” Rumarin threw his hands up. “You remember when we were in Whiterun last?”

Akhara’s gaze fell on him like a bird descending on prey. 

“These redguards asked me if I knew a redguard woman with a scar, and offered money if I told them. Well of course I was intrigued, as any simpleton after coin might be. Seeing as how I know you, I figured I could tell them, get the gold, and then help you kill them all and take whatever else they had. Since I don’t fancy their odds. I’ve seen you fight.” 

Both Kematu and Akhara were gawking at him now. 

“You de’nt,” Akhara rounded on him, “you were going to hand me over to some soldiers from Hammerfell?"

“Well I couldn’t risk you not coming? And what if all they wanted was to see you and say hi? Give you a birthday present or something?” 

“In any case-” Kematu interrupted them both, “seeing as how you are _ not _ the woman we’re after, we’re still in need of information. I feel it only right to offer you the same deal.” He nodded to Akhara, “If you know of a woman by such description.” 

“Gah," Akhara spat, "it’s Saadia."

Rumarin blinked. Oh right, Saadia. How had he not thought of her? She was older than Akhara sure, but he just assumed some tavern wench wasn’t exactly on the run from the law. Whereas Akhara… thief, mercenary, dabbled in daedric affairs… 

“You know her? Forgive me if I’m skeptical… especially after… this,” Kematu gestured to the two of them.

“I’m sure. Her accent doesn’t match anywhere in Cyrodiil or Skyrim and she never goes outside the city walls and always inspects each visitor to the tavern before going up to them. And I heard her use the word ‘abah’ to describe Belethor.” 

“What's ‘abah’?” Rumarin interjected. 

“It means filth in Yokudan.”

“Wow. You know Yokudan? And you thought _ I _was a spy?”

“Only until you opened your mouth.”

Rumarin opened his mouth to retort but Kematu cut him off again. 

“I must insist we conclude our business. And here,” Kematu reached into his pockets and pulled out a coin purse, and handed it to Akhara, “for the trouble.” 

“Wait, what about mine?” Rumarin frowned. 

“That was yours,” Kematu spared him a frustrated glance before hopping onto one of the horses and heading out into the street. The other soldiers following suit. 

Rumarin could feel her gaze on the back of his head as he turned around.

“You were going to sell me out for five hundred gold?” She didn’t sound angry, in fact if he didn’t know better he would’ve said she sounded impressed. 

“No…” he lied. “I would never rat someone out to the guards. I told you, I thought we could collect all their gold. After I helped you kill them.” 

“You’re sticking with that story then?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Stendarr’s balls.” Akhara started laughing. Not her usual loud bark or derisive snort, but actually laughed, one hand clutching her side as her laugh escaped her. “You owe me,” she stated simply, smile still on her lips. 

“I absolutely do,” he agreed. Relieved that she wasn’t leaving him for dead somewhere. 

“You swim, yes?” Her sudden request caught him off guard. 

“I… yes?” 

“It is a yes or no question. Can you swim?” 

“Yes. Why…?” 

“Because you are going to find a footlocker just under that ship there,” she pointed to an enormous ship docked off the way. 

His recent feeling of relief fled and was replaced with a lead ball in his stomach. “You're quick to collect. Are you sure this can't wait? Like, until it’s not the middle of winter?” 

“Gah, get swimming, elf.” 

So it was back to ‘elf’ again. “Let's say I don't really remember how to swim-” 

“Or I could just throw you in. Your choice.” Her voice had lost all of it’s humor. Okay, maybe she was angrier than he thought. 

The pair made their way down to the docks, close to the ship she had pointed out. For such a large ship, it was oddly well hidden between several other large ships. No guards would see down here. 

Rumarin groaned and began removing his outer layer of robes. He looked over at Akhara, who was watching him expectantly. “Do you mind turning around? I'm a bit of a prude.”

She smirked but turned around, facing away from him, overlooking the bay. 

He finished removing his robes, save for his underthings, and stood at the edge of the dock. Trying to prepare himself for how cold he would be momentarily. 

Rocking on the balls of his feet, he took a deep breath, which turned into a sharp gasp as he felt a pair of hands shove him forward over the edge. 

He hit the water with a clap. Freezing cold assaulted every inch of him. The shock of it causing his muscles to seize for a moment before he could right himself. It was so cold it burned. 

He whipped around, trying to inhale but his lungs weren’t quite working well. He looked around for Akhara. Who was standing at the edge of the dock, hands on her hips. 

“That was for earlier,” she looked down at him from the dock, squatting down she held out a hand to him, the moonlight glinting off something small and metal in her hand. A key. 

“Right-” his voice came out in a wheeze, teeth already chattering from the cold “-we’re even now I hope,” he said, taking the key from her fingers. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and dove under the water. The faster he could get this stupid footlocker the faster he could get out and warm up. 

The water was nearly impossible to see in, dark and cold. For a second he wondered if there even was a footlocker. It was hazy in the water near the docks. Rumarin was acutely aware that every second he spent down here was causing his muscles to freeze. What little light made its way down from the surface showing the wooden posts from the pier ending beneath the sand. And there was the chest. Resting at the bottom of the pillars from the docks. Rumarin swam down and tried to insert the key. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore. The lock clicked. Inside was a small bottle. He grabbed it with one hand and swam up. Lungs screaming for air. 

He broke the surface with a gasp. The night air felt like a hundred tiny daggers against his skin. Shivering, he pulled himself back up onto the dock. Akhara still sitting next to his pile of clothes. 

He began using his cloak to dry himself off as fast as possible. The night air making his skin blister in the sheer cold. He almost wanted to ask Akhara for a healing potion, or spell. Almost. 

“I thought,” his breath rattled in his chest with each word, “you’d at least pull the old ‘take your clothes and run’ gag and watch me walk all the back up to Solitude in my unmentionables.” 

“There’s still time yet. Did you find it?” 

“Yes, here. There was only one small vial in there.” 

“Perfect!” her long fingers snatched the vial out of his shivering hand. 

Pulling his clothes back on, shivering under his layers still, he nodded towards the vial in her hand, “What is that?” 

“Balmora Blue,” she offered. Holding the bottle up in the moonlight, the contents seemed to shimmer as she turned it. 

“You aren’t going to drink it I hope…” he eyed her warily. 

“No, no…” she gave a cold laughed, her eyes darting up to look at his face. The almost full moon reflecting from the water bounced off her face, lighting up her eyes and almost wolfish smile. “We’re going to plant it.” 

He shivered again. This time not from the cold. 

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.***.

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They’d spent the night in the Winking Skeever. The tavern was still full and fairly lively when he and Akhara had walked in. Much to his chagrin, since, he was still soaking wet and while his clothes had been dry, he’d been forced to use them as a towel and they were now sticking in all the wrong places. 

“Oh, what happened?” one of the tavern girls asked when they’d stepped through to door, Rumarin making a beeline for the fire. 

“He slipped,” Akhara answered. 

“Oh you poor thing!” 

Rumarin simply huffed in response. Ignoring Inigo’s confused look and focused on getting as close to the fire as possible without actually setting himself on fire. 

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.***.

Rumarin was groggy the next morning, it was still dark out. He’d fallen asleep wrapped in several blankets and his cloak. But it wasn’t the cold or noise that woke him up. It was the fact that Akhara was standing over him, one finger held up to her mouth. He grunted and pulled himself up, glaring at her from his cocoon of blankets. 

“If you come with me right now, I'll split half the gold the Alik'r gave me.” 

Rumarin followed in a half haze as his mind was still waking up. He didn't even question where she was heading until he noticed a familiar shipping dock as they traveled along the road north of Solitude. He knew this area tended to have less reputable ships dock… and speak of the daedra. 

“The dainty sload… I know these pirates!"

Akhara raised an eyebrow, "you happen to know where the captain's quarters are too?"

"I do recall some things…" he gave her a look. "Last time I was here I was a bit drunk. The first mates an orc. I say we kill him before he remembers I owe him money.” 

“How many people do you owe money to?”

“Enough to have to keep moving.” He admitted somewhat sheepishly.

They snuck through the sleeping ship. It was surprisingly easy, none of the pirates were even awake and if any were, they didn't see them. He saw Akhara slip the balmora blue into one of the crates as they came across a more lavish bed than the others. No doubt… Captain Volf's. 

When they emerged back above deck, there was the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn. A woman in a feathered hat sat atop one of the crates. Ah… Rumarin swallowed. 

“I have to admit I was surprised when you managed to slip away the first time.” Captain Volf lazily regarded him from her spot, inspecting her blade. “I sent bounty hunter and after bounty hunter looking for you. And where do I find you? On the deck of my own fucking ship.” 

“Well, you know what they say, timing is all about something or other,” Rumarin said, trying to look for an exit. 

“When you borrowed the money, it was expected you would pay back in full.” 

“Yes… but there was no time limit on the return.” Rumarin took a small step back. The captain and the two pirates he was pretty sure they could handle, but the entire crew? And wouldn't the guards be here soon looking for the balmora blue they had _ just planted _?

“The time limit ended with my patience!” Volf snarled, showing teeth. 

Akhara cleared her throat.

Volf turned her piercing stare to her, “and who are you?”

“What do I look like? I'm a mercenary.” 

Volf eyed Akhara up and down. “So you know there’s a reward out for him.” 

Akhara let out a harsh laugh, “know? I brought him here.” 

Rumarin felt his heart rate quicken. Vermina’s tits, this was what she’d been planning? Or had she only found out after he’d tried to turn her over the the Alik'r? It didn’t matter though, because between Volf and Akhara, he could see no way of talking his way out of this. 

“Interesting,” Volf said. “Hand him over to me, and I'll let you leave… intact.” 

“My...you're awfully cocky for someone who's wearing feathers.” Akhara sneered

“Careful girl, or I'll kill you last.” Volf snarled, drawing her blades. “Hand over the elf, and I’ll let your pretty face leave here unscathed.” 

“Sure, also, I’ll be collecting that reward. Send it to a Gulum Ei up at the Winking Skeever.” 

“Wait, really, I almost have enough to start paying you back. Honestly,” Rumarin cringed at how desperate he sounded. 

“Where have I heard that before?” Volf said, jerking her thumb to signal the other pirates. 

Akhara simply walked off the ship. Not bothering to look back. Leaving him alone with the pirates. Who definitely wanted him dead. Rumarin swallowed. 

“Tie him up, and take him down to the cabin.” 

  
  


.***.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh poor Rumarin... now he's done it. I feel like Rumarin absolutely is the type to sell people out for gold to save his own skin. Just look at poor Sunken-roots.  
Also I wanted Captain Volf to be.... hot, but we never see them in game. 
> 
> This chapter took a bit longer than I intended, I have the whole thing drafted but life kept interfering with editing. Workin' that hospital 14hr shift life...


	5. Even Little Debts

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Even Little Debts

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_ Rumarin _

Rumarin sat, tied to a chair in Volf's quarters. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, by his guess, about an hour. If Volf's plan was to kill him with boredom, it was working. 

He'd unfortunately had plenty of time to _ think _ . Which he would rather avoid doing. As it tended to paint a picture he didn't find all that appealing and put him in a bad mood. For example, the fact that Akhata had just turned him in to Volf for money, and while yes, he'd almost done the same to her the night before he never planned on letting those soldiers _ actually _ take her anywhere. But no, he made his bed. Again. This was all spiraling wildly out of control. And all because he'd tried to do the right thing by paying that woman's bounty to the bandits. Ugh, there, he felt upset again. And now Volf was probably going to beat him bloody because she cared more about coin itself than helping people who needed it. Was he being hypocritical? Maybe. But it didn't change the fact he was in his current position because Akhara had been the one to sell him out. 

A part of him, a small part, ached at the thought of Inigo and her travelling without him. They'd probably head to Dawnstar, collect the money for restoring that blade and maybe Daenlyn would join them again. Adventuring and laughing on the road, taking odd jobs and doing everything Rumarin had wished for. He hung his head at the thought. Of course, he'd messed it up by being insufferable. 

A scraping sound came from the other side of the door. Rumarin straightened up as he heard someone enter. 

Volf stepped into the cabin, kicking the door shut behind her. Rumarin flinched at the noise. 

“Tell me why I shouldn't just throw you overboard?” 

“Well, you could, but would that really get you the gold any faster?” 

“You're right it won't. But it will make me feel better.”

“It would probably also feel better to not be in prison. If you're planning on avoiding that, I might be persuaded to tell you what the guards are definitely going to find on your ship, and where.” 

“The guards don't bother us, we've got deals with one of the Thane's off the city. Nice try-” 

Volf stopped, Rumarin knew she could hear it too. There were multiple footsteps above, and shouting. Volf narrowed her eyes at Rumarin before turning towards the door. 

"Not even if they were told you had balmora blue on board?" He said. 

"What?!"

Crash!

Several guards broke down the door, storming into the cabin. Three of them wrestled Volf to the ground before she could fight back, hauling her out. He could see several other Solitude guards were fighting with various pirates through the door into the hallway of the ship. 

The guards hauled Volf away, sounds and protests from both guards and pirates filled the ship. Rumarin sat there, still tied to this infernal chair, when he noticed a very familiar redguard standing in the hall of the ship directly opposite the door of Volf's cabin. 

Akhara stood there, leaning against the wall, inspecting her nails on one hand. Rumarin stared at the woman in front of him, blinking several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. 

She looked back towards where the guards were busy corralling the pirates above deck before crossing into the cabin. Rumarin barely had time to form a single remark before she slipped a dagger out of her boot and cut him loose. He stood, rubbing the red marks on his wrists. 

She gave him a once over, seemingly pleased he was still in one piece. “Right then, let's go.” 

Rumarin's mouth opened and closed several times, searching for words. “I certainly hope this was one of those ‘you secretly had the whole thing planned and didn't tell me deals, because if it wasn't I am very-” 

“Grateful,” Akhara cut him off. “You're grateful I didn't leave you to the guards after that stunt with the A’likir.”

He bit his tongue. "Well I hope my reward was decent. You said you’d split half the gold from the Alik'r too." 

“Did I? I don't recall. You sure you weren’t dreaming when I woke you up?” 

Oh, so she wasn't going to share the gold then? Was that it? If there was no gold… 

Rumarin wrinkled his nose at her as they made their way to the upper deck. One of the guards nodding to Akhara as they passed. 

The two of them walked off the ship without so much as a glance from the other guards. 

Rumarin waited until the were a little ways up the path to Solitude, just out of sight of the ship, hidden by the twisting rocky path. “Well, travelling with you was fun and all, but I really should be going now. You know, before you try to get me killed or almost arrested again. Maybe next time-” 

“Rich, coming from the one who tried to fork me over to soldiers from Hammerfell the other night." Akhara lowered her voice, "Volf can't send thugs after you from prison. But cross me again and she won't have to.” 

“You know I could accept the betrayal, even the shoving me into hjaal bay, but blackmail? Wow, I’m flattered you think I’m even worth saving to have as a companion," he said sarcastically as they continued the walk up the winding path that led back under the great arch to Solitude. 

“I could still change my mind." Akhara’s voice tilted into ‘dangerous’ territory. 

“Okay, how about if we start over?” he offered. Clearly things weren't going in a positive direction. 

“Fine,” she said. And to his horror she pulled out her dagger and shoved him against a nearby outcropping. “Who are you?” 

“Name’s still Rumarin,” he cringed a little at the feeling of something sharp poking into his side.

“What are you doing in Skyrim?”

“I had to flee Cyrodiil due to a misunderstanding, so I ended up with pirates, as you do.” He watched her raise a single eyebrow. “I ah… borrowed some money from them, for a very noble cause, I might add. And didn't get the chance to repay them. But I tried, by trying to sell that silver mold. Which didn’t work out too well. Turns out bandits aren't too good with numbers. So I started looking for other ways to make coin, which led to me raiding nord ruins and fetching broken bottles. You know the rest.”

“Were you hoping to steal from me as well?”

“No,” he screwed up his face as she pressed him further against the wall. “Okay maybe at first. Like when Nurelion only gave us five septims, after you left his apprentice came down and gave me five hundred.”

“He what!” She shoved him away.

Rumarin scrambled to his feet, putting at least an arms distance between them. “I know! Talk about cheap nords.” 

Akhara continued to glare at him.

“Anyway,” he said, brushing his robes, “I was mostly planning on just sticking with you and Inigo for a few of those ‘jobs’ and paying off Volf so she wasn't sending mercenaries after me. Now it seems like that’s obsolete.”

“Didn't expect that some of those mercenaries might be me?”

“Nope. Plus if I stick around with you, I'll be safe from other mercenaries."

"In exchange for what, exactly?" 

"My charming wit?

“You are incredibly lucky, Rumarin,” she said, walking up towards the city. “You’re lucky I found out about your bounty _ after _you’d proven useful.” 

He jogged to keep up with her. “The good kind of luck? Or bad?”

She raised an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. “Is there a difference?” 

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.***.

Things were certainly better between them after what had happened in Solitude. For example, she was back to calling him by his name, instead of ‘elf’. 

He still wasn't entirely sure if she truly was working for the thieves guild, or if she was just working for whoever offered the most gold and had her own agenda. Which he couldn't entirely fault her for. It was a good strategy. Usually. 

In fact he was so unsure about her motivations he began wondering if she’d just made up the whole story about how she’d sent by the thieves guild in the Imperial City. But… Inigo seemed to corroborate that story and he was fairly certain that Inigo, at least, was trustworthy. 

Nevertheless, he needed to find a way to either work with her, or slip away. Or, find something bigger and badder to put between the two of them. Which was turning out to be harder than expected. So far there were ten things Rumarin knew about Akhara:

  1. She liked green apples. And this love of green apples did not extend to the red ones. Only the green. At first he thought the horse they'd rented in Solitude was particularly clever. But no, it was her stealing the apples out of the bag. 
  2. She was from Cyrodiil. But Dunmeri insults made their way into her vocabulary too often for it be by chance. He was positive she’d either been raised by a dunmer, or lived in Morrowind. Yet nothing about her accent or mannerisms reminded him of dunmeri culture. Just the swearing. 
  3. She did not like the Thalmor. That was putting it lightly, he supposed. She had murdered a group of them for no other reason than “they were walking by” according to Daenlyn. So dislike was probably the wrong word. Inigo had revealed the entire reason they had even been at Yorgrim Overlook that night was because they were looking for _him _and thought he was a Thalmor spy. When Rumarin asked what the plan had been_ if he was_, Inigo grimaced and didn’t elaborate further. 
  4. She had a _terrible_ sense of humor. So far, any and all attempts to make her laugh had been unsuccessful. As in, the most he’d gotten out her was a few derisive snorts and eye rolls. The closest thing to success, he assumed, was when she exhaled sharply through her nose while smirking. He didn't count the time she'd burst into laughter in Solitude after hearing his explanation of the Alik'r.
  5. She became _extremely_ irritable if she didn’t bathe at least every other day. He’d have thought someone accustomed to traveling on the road would be used to having to go a few days without a bath but apparently more than three was out of the question. Not that he was complaining. It was rather nice to know they’d always stop at an inn for a hot bath frequently. Which brought him to his next point.
  6. She did not actually seem to be someone who traveled frequently or lived on the road. Her cooking anything on the nights they did make camp in the wild was a terrible idea. It usually fell to him, or Inigo. She screamed once when a fish touched her leg while bathing in a river. Rumarin tried not to laugh. He did. 
  7. In addition to the bathing thing, she went to sleep early, and slept in… a lot. She always made sure they got rooms at whatever inn was closest. And he’d noticed, several times, she’d locked herself up in a tavern room and not emerged until well past daybreak the next day. It had happened twice so far. At first he thought she was drinking too much and slept in, but the second time she hadn’t had a single drop of ale. 
  8. She didn't know what a Sload was. Well, she'd actually grunted in disagreement when he called himself a Sload and didn’t seem to appreciate the paradox of the Dainty Sload, so Rumarin could only assume she'd never seen one.
  9. She was weirdly interested in the Oblivion crisis. Which was why she'd agreed to help Silus in the first place. Probably the longest conversation they'd had so far was her asking Rumarin what he knew about it. Which wasn't much but apparently it was more than she did. Which didn't make sense. She seemed incredibly well educated otherwise. But he didn't say so. And last,
  10. She was hiding something. Possibly several somethings, his gut told himself. 

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.***.

It took them several days to reach Dragon Bridge. They passed another of those strange stone structures in the distance. What Akhara had said were dragon shrines. Rumarin could almost see people working on the distant rock if he squinted. Lightly falling snow obscuring his view until they were far enough away, you wouldn't know there was anything there at all. 

The town of Dragon Bridge was slowly coming to life in the early morning when the three of them arrived. Guards from the penitus oculatus stood on watch as well as guards adorned in Solitudes colours. They passed a few farms on the outskirts of town, where people were already beginning to work the fields. 

It was all so calm, and quiet. Then, Inigio's ears twitched the same time Rumarin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. A shadow passed over them. 

Someone screamed.

It was a dragon.

A very large, and scaly, red looking dragon flew over the town. Rumarin felt his jaw drop. He'd only seen a few, but always at a distance. This thing was enormous. Just one of it’s legs must have been larger than a chimney. 

Some of the townsfolk were fleeing. Most stood, frozen in shock. The guards from the outpost stood staring up at it, motionless. 

Next to him, Inigo gripped his bow and Akhara drew a sword. Rumarin balked at then. Were they really planning on fighting this thing? 

He looked around behind him at the guards. They looked as nervous as he felt. Staring as the dragon circled closer; until it landed on top of the dragon bridge, it's great claws ripping loose chunks of stone. Then the dragon let out a single, fiery roar, and everyone snapped into action. 

Inigo was already rushing forward, firing arrows at it and using the buildings as cover. Some of the braver guards shoved past him and began shouting orders, the few archers that were present all firing.

Rumarin noticed some of the townspeople were still standing about. He shouted at them to hide and conjured his bow and drew it in one motion. 

Akhara was gone. He looked around for her, briefly fearing the worst before thinking she must have fled. Not that he blamed her, he wanted to run; out of this town and away from skyrim until he was back in a province that didn't have a dragon problem. 

The dragon roared again, this time fire hitting several buildings. Rumarin flinched as the smell of burning wood reached his nose. He continued firing arrows, his brow creasing in worry when they had little effect other than to piss it off. Some guards and townsfolk were firing arrows and shouting. He ran towards a shop, ducking into the front door as the dragon took off again. 

The ground shook when it landed. He didn’t know where. 

Poking his head out the doorway, he saw multiple guards shouting at people to get inside, or run. The air was starting to get thick with smoke. Several buildings were on fire. Rumarin could hear the flames, when he turned around and looked up. The top floor of the shop door way he was in was ablaze. 

_ What in aetherius?! _

Rumarin ran out of the doorway into the street without thinking. The dragon screeched again. Shit shit shit. He saw another building across the way that wasn’t on fire, and ran towards it. 

One. Two. The shadow flew over him again. He ducked right, running towards the other end of the building now. 

He heard the twang of a bow nearby, unsure who fired it. The dragon roared again. Smoke and haze was filling the air. Embers from burning wood drifting by. He leaned on the side of a building. Rumarin screwed his eyes shut and covered his nose with his sleeve. He needed to get out. There was a river nearby, he knew. But that river was probably out in the open, and down a cliff, and he didn’t know what direction it was in anyway. 

A force of air suddenly sent him falling backwards, another gust, stronger. He could hear the dragon making guttural noises. Rumarin opened his eyes. 

The monster had landed a mere ten paces from him, in the street. It’s large yellow eyes locked onto his and Rumarin tried to push himself up. 

He froze. Watching the beast's head, he couldn't even bring himself to run as he saw its nostrils start to flare-

Before he could move, a shape on the roof leapt onto the dragons head. 

Rumarin heard Akhara yell as she landed on top of the dragon, forcing her blade down into the beasts head, as deep as it would go. He heard the scales break as she twisted her blade, snapping it in half. 

The dragon gave a steaming hiss and it’s head fell forward onto the ground, Akhara rolling off with it. 

His heart was pounding against his chest. 

One. Two. 

Rumarin let out a breath from his spot on the ground. 

Akhara stood up and tossed her broken blade handle to the ground. “Damn. I liked that sword.”

_ She'd killed a dragon. _

Akhara turned and met his gaze as she took a single step forward, and stumbled. 

On instinct he reached out to steady her from falling into the dirt. Her hand gripped his shoulder as she stumbled forward. Her eyes were glazed over, she looked directly at his face but her gaze went right through him. 

Was she injured? He didn't see any wounds on her, no blood other than what had sprayed on her from the dragon. 

“Are you sure it’s dead?” was all he managed. 

Something in her face changed, brows drawing together as she exhaled. But she said nothing.

He frowned at her. No smart comment? This wasn’t good. They were still in the middle of a burning town. He could hear others still shouting. Some guards were visible through the smoke at the other end of the dragon. 

Rumarin whistled. Several heads turned towards where the two of them stood. Inigo’s shape came running up, bow still in one hand. Rumarin gestured with his free hand towards Akhara, who still hadn’t said anything and has half leaning on his side.

“You are both alright?” Inigo asked. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “She killed it.” His voice still laced with disbelief, despite the very large dragon corpse laying not twenty paces from them. 

Inigo just nodded. 

"Is it really dead?" People began popping out of hiding. 

“I don’t know, I saw a woman just over there,” said one of the guards. 

“No, I’m certain it was a man. Taller’n a bear he was!" said another.

“You’re bein silly. There were at least several others.” 

Inigo pulled Akhara’s other arm over his shoulders, and began leading the way away from the dragon. The smoke was clearing slightly as they moved towards the inn up on the hill. 

Inigo and Rumarin half carried Akhara into the inn and to an open bed. The innkeeper and others rushed around tending to the other wounded. Four guards and three townsfolk lay on other beds, some even just on the floor. Akhara mumbled something about being 'fine' and Inigo told her to rest. 

Rumarin found a place on the floor of the inn to sit, with his back against the wall.

"Here," Inigo handed him a healing potion. Which he drank gladly. At least there was no smoke here. 

Inigo leaned his head back against the wall of the tavern. “My brother told me that thunderstorms are when Dragons are mating in the sky. He was pulling my leg, wasn't he?" 

"Probably," Rumarin said. "I didn't know you had a brother, Inigo?" 

"Yes, we were twins.” 

“Were?” 

“He died, protecting me from some khajiit hating locals who decided to attack our camp at night."

"Oh." Rumarin really didn't know what to say to that. Being an only child, he could only imagine. 

"It is alright," Inigo said. "It was many years ago now. 

Rumarin nodded, as if that made things alright. 

"What happened?" 

"I ran." Inigo's ears flattened back against his head. "After that I found skooma. And ran with some bandits for a time. Eventually I started doing jobs for the thieves guild, and met Akhara.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Rumarin stared at his hands when Inigo spoke again. “What about you?” Inigo asked. “ Do you have any siblings?" 

"Oh, no. I grew up with my parents and the entire group of troubadours all taking turns babysitting me."

"How did you end up adventuring?" Inigo asked.

"Well I always wanted to," Rumarin said. "I just wanted to start adventuring on my own." After seeing Otero disarm all those bandits, Rumarin had been set on learning that card and knife trick ever since. But really, he'd only been on his own for the last twenty years or so. After Otero had died.

"You know, with how much I traveled all over Cyrodiil over the years, I met plenty of traveling minstrels. It's a wonder we never ran into one another." Inigo smiled. 

"Ha, yes," Rumarin laughed, knowing exactly why Inigo would never have run into him. Not in Cyrodiil. And not with traveling minstrels. 

After what happened with Cheydinhal, he was determined not set foot in Cyrodiil for as long as he lived. Which, by the looks of it, was several centuries to go yet. 

“Well, I think the immediate danger has passed. We should get some rest,” Inigo said. 

Rumarin nodded. Trying to find a comfortable spot on the floor. It looked like half the town was doing the same. Who knew how many had lost their homes to the dragon’s fire. 

It was rough sleep, with people constantly coming and going in the wake of the dragon attack. The inn had become crowded with wounded and people tending to them. He found himself drifting between sleeping and consciousness several times. So he just layed where he was, half curled against the wall, eyes shut and trying not to think about the dragon’s fire.

At one point, Rumarin found himself listening to the conversation some of the townspeople were having, several among them looked to be guards. 

“You’ve heard the rumors, Horgeir?”

“Aye, about the Dragonborn?” 

Rumarin frowned. He had heard some rumors, rumors that had led him to Windhelm. 

“They say they saved Whiterun, and how they’re the reason the dragons are coming back. The old dragon cults are popping up all over the old temples. They say they worship the old dragon god.” 

“Yes,” the one called Horgeir said, “but I also heard the Dragonborn was a giant Nord warrior with a chest the size of a barrel. And that it was Ulfric Stormcloak.” 

“Nah, Ulfric was trained by the Greybeards but they never recognized him as Dragonborn. Besides, why would they call for the Dragonborn like they did if it was Ulfric?” 

“Ulfric is full of himself enough he would have announced himself as Dragonborn already if he were,” another said. 

“What if he's trying to hide it from the Thalmor and the empire hmm?”

“Why hide it if you ask me. Being the Dragonborn would rally skyrim's people like little else could.” 

“Like a true dragonborn heir, a Septim…” 

"The Septim's were wiped out."

“I heard the count of Bruma was rumored to be descended from Martin Septim himself,” 

“What?”

“You know, those old rumors that Martin Septim and the countess at the time were… close.” 

Rumarin head a nord giggling on the other side of the inn. 

“I heard,” another voice spoke up, this one raspier than the rest, “those rumors were planted.” 

“By who?”

“By someone else, by the blades. To cover the truth. That Martin Septim was involved with one of his own protectors,” 

“You mean that play?”

“Aye, Martin and the Champion.” 

“Hogwash.” 

“Is it though? What if the play’s and tale’s are the only true story. The Thalmor probably would’ve wiped out anything else, anything ‘official’.” 

Rumarin rolled his eyes. The tale of Martin and the Champion was a sappy romantic tragedy that involved, at one point, the ‘Champion’ sneaking into Castle Leyawiin and using daedric magic to make everyone naked. 

Granted Rumarin didn’t know much about the _ real _ Champion of Cyrodiil, but he’d seen the statues, the portraits, been force fed the history books, and there was no way that serious looking woman was the same one who allegedly became a mad god like the play said. Saying the Champion of Cyrodiil was Sheogorath was like saying the leader of the Aldmeri Dominion was a banana. Not to mention the first version of Martin and the Champion was written by the same ridiculous playwright who wrote the _ Last Scabbard of Akrash _. 

Rumarin rolled over from his place in the far corner. Eventually, he found an uneasy sleep. 

.***.

As they left Dragon Bridge the next morning, Akhara seemingly returned to her usual self, Rumarin could just see the dragon shrine poking through the fog on the cliff face in the distance. 

The distant shapes of people still mining away at it. 

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.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year all!!! I finally had some time off and got around to updating this chapter. Let's go 2020! the year of getting shit done!  
So, in case you want to read [The Last Scabbard of Akrash](https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Last_Scabbard_of_Akrash) which was the book mentioned. Anyone else spent hours on usep.net just digging deeper and deeper into obscure elder scrolls lore only to realize you've spent 3 hours on the site and never found that one (1) thing you were originally looking for? But damn if you don't know all about sloads now.  
Also I have a [Pinterest board for Rumarin](https://www.pinterest.com/pinacoladamatata/elder-scrolls-moodboard/skyrim-rumarin/) and one for [Akhara](https://www.pinterest.com/pinacoladamatata/elder-scrolls-moodboard/skyrim-akhara/) because it's ridiculously fun to make those things.


	6. Faith, Trust, and Vampire  Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some depictions of blood and gore in this chapter. Because vampires. And werewolves.

.***.

Faith, Trust 

(and vampire dust)

.***.

.

_ Rumarin _

  
  
  


Morthal was a living nightmare. Well, not more of a nightmare than Dawnstar… but it was close. Upon arriving in the dead of night, they’d walked into the middle of an argument outside the Jarl’s longhouse and Akhara had walked right through the group of men and towards the inn without a word.

He mostly ignored the curious glances from that. Offering only a small shrug when the men gathered turned to look at the odd group of a redguard, khajiit, and an altmer passing through their midst. 

One trip to a nondescript house, and three slightly veiled threats later, they had the last piece of Mehrun's razor. Getting the last piece of the dagger had been child's play compared to what they went through for the other pieces, Rumarin wondered why they hadn't _ started _ here.

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Only thing left now was to make it back to Dawnstar. Of course, they couldn't go twenty paces without Akhara finding new ways to make coin. Which normally wouldn't have been a bad thing, but when making said coin involved being outside, in the marsh, at night, Rumarin tended to draw the line. 

In the middle of his soup Rumarin heard the innkeeper telling Akhara about the burned down house that had killed a mother and child. How the man had apparently run off with another woman the next day. He wasn’t paying much attention until Akhara stood up and slipped out the door. He looked around for Inigo who was nowhere to be seen. “Peachy,” he muttered. Internally fuming, Rumarin made his way out the door after leaving a few coins on the table. 

Akhara was leaning over the railing of the inn, staring at the burned house, the wind blowing rogue strands of hair across her face. 

“You’re not?...” he trailed off, narrowing his eyes at her. She tilted her head just enough to look at him out of the corner of her eye, before pushing herself off the railing and walking towards the burnt house. 

Rumarin groaned inwardly. Not that he didn't feel bad for the little girl and mother that had died, it was just so cold. And dark. And wet. 

“Apparently we’re crime solvers now!” Inigo’s voice popped up beside him.

Rumarin swallowed his next comment and followed after them. Trying to avoid the frigid water leaking through the rundown wood walk, he let out an audible sigh. There wasn't much ‘solving’ to do in his opinion. 

Akhara was sifting through the ashes of the house, gently turning over a book that had somehow survived. The full moon illuminated burnt wood, scorch marks still evident in places. Rumarin noticed, not without a pang of sadness, that the fireplace was rather well intact. 

“So… this Hrogar pledges himself to Alva_ the day after _ his wife died? Well, that's good enough for me. I say we kill him and call it a day.” 

“Shhh!” Akhara hissed in his direction, holding up a finger at him as she moved cautiously towards the far southern corner. The remains of a bed, he noticed. Her feet kicking up small puffs of snowy ash with each step. He didn't notice the soft, nearly translucent shape until Akhara knelt down in front of it. 

“It's… it's a little girl,” Inigo whispered in awe, though not without a hint of horror. Rumarin gulped. Not that he was afraid of ghosts, just, he thought the dead ought to remain well… dead. 

“Are you Helgi?” Akhara asked gently. If ghosts could eye suspiciously this one did. “Do you know what happened to your house?” 

The ghost wavered for a moment. It opened its mouth, but no sound came out. A ghostly finger raised and pointed towards the west. Towards the graveyard. 

The ghost seemed to struggle with herself. The raised her hands over her face, and opened them in a classic ‘hide-and-seek’ gesture. 

Rumarin would have quite easily bet all his septim’s that Akhara was very much not going to play with a ghost child in the middle of the night. Which is why he had to stop his jaw from audibly dropping when she nodded and reassured the little ghost girl that she would in fact play hide and seek with her. 

In the dead of night. 

In the marsh. 

Maybe she did have a heart after all, even if she completely lacked reason. 

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.***.

So roughly two hours later, when Akhara told the newly widowed man that she didn't want his help killing the vampires, and that his vampire wife deserved her fate, Rumarin was forced to wonder yet again, if she did in fact have a heart.

And this had nothing at all to do with the fact that Rumarin wouldn't have minded another body between him, and a coven of vampires.

Now standing at the entrance to a grand cavern with an immense table littered with human remains, Rumarin couldn’t help but wish Daenlyn were here to crack a joke about dietary habits. 

“A vampire lair? Well, people have always said I think the sun shines out my bottom, so we know they won’t come up behind us.” 

He noticed Akhara was wrinkling her nose at something. And then the smell hit him. That hint of iron and the scent of death. Rumarin covered his nose with his shirt, trying not to gag. 

They made their way through a small room, he could hear a vampire, or something, talking to themselves. Or rather, to the pile of corpses that was giving off the rancid smell in a small pit. Inigo shot the man between the eyes with his bow without so much as a sound. 

Peering over the edge of the pit he could see a rotting pile of bodies in various stages of death. 

This time Rumarin did lose his stomach. Eyes watering, he kicked some dirt over it and followed after Inigo. 

The blue light from his bow lighting up the cave walls of the narrow tunnel they slipped through. Akhara stopped in front of them, arms out to stop them from walking further. Looking over her shoulder, he could see the tunnel suddenly led into a wide cavern with a long table absolutely littered with vampires idea of ‘food’. 

His hand reached back to draw his bow when a round of slow clapping echoed around the cavern and the vampire at the head of the table stood up. He scanned the cave, there were vampires everywhere, at least seven of them. 

And they were noticed.

“So you’ve found Movarth,” the vampire at the head called towards them. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know any flame spells would you?” Inigo whispered. 

“Uh, no. Which leads to my next question; who gets all our stuff if we die?” Rumarin joked, tightening his grip on his bound bow. 

“Why, I do!” chuckled the vampire standing at the head of the table. “I have to say,” Movarth smiled, "I didn't think the locals had it in them to find me and my coven, much less be so bold as to attack." 

"You're preying on the entire town. Picking them off one by one!" Inigo said

"Yes, yes, that Ravencrone family. Always meddling." Movarth paused, seemingly sniffing the air. "What is that I smell?" 

Akhara shrugged, rolling her shoulders and tightening her grip on her staff. "Probably all the filth you've accumulated in here," she said. 

"No…" Movarth's red eyes narrowed. "My, my… aren't you brave. Or stupid." He added. "Coming into a vampire lair, all alone." 

It didn't sit well with Rumarin that the vampire was talking to Akhara as if he and Inigo weren't even there. Rumarin began to regret ever sticking up for the little ghost girl and agreeing to fight vampires with the group of locals who had all backed out of the fight when they arrived at the cave. Since now there was an ancient vampire who seemed intent on decorating his cave with their entrails. And they had no help. 

"Inigo, Ru," Akhara said, "get out of here."

“Akhara,” Inigo pleaded. 

Rumarin looked at the two of them in confusion. 

“It has been sometime since I fought one of your kind,” the ancient one laughed. "A pity." The vampire's voice turned sinister. Magic crackling to life in his palms. 

Akhara screamed with hatred, throwing her staff to the ground. A sick popping noise reached Rumarin's ears as her bones began to snap as he watched in horror. Her form began to grow, her hands more like claws, her teeth… He had a thought then. 

A thought that was almost surely running through the head in every vampire in the room. 

_ Werewolf _. 

Inigo fired an arrow, breaking Rumarin out of his trance. Streaking past, it hit one of the vampires in the chest. 

Akhara, the werewolf, had jumped down from their little platform and was running towards the table on all fours. 

Rumarin ducked back inside the tunnel as one of the vampires aimed an ice spike at his face. 

The cavern was absolute chaos. Light from spells lit up the dark rock walls in flashes.

Movarth was gasping, clutching at his throat and hanging on his throne. The large dark shape that was Akhara towered over him. And. In one motion, tore him in two. Rumarin watched in sick fascination as the werewolf then rounded on the other two vampires. Showing no signs of 

“Time to run!” Inigo yelled. His hand grabbed him by the back of his arm and hauled him away, back towards the entrance to the cave. The two of them broke into a sprint. Ignoring the sounds and howls coming from behind them. 

Inigo didn't slow down until they were at the mouth of the cave. 

Rumarin let go and doubled over, hands on his knees. Inigo leaned against the mouth of the cave and rubbed his face. 

“What…” Rumarin’s voice came out weakly “What…?” his unspoken question hung in the air. This was worse than being a thief or a Thalmor double agent or being the heir of some wealthy noble, this was… so much worse. 

Inigo sighed long and heavy. “She usually does not lose control. I did not even think! And the moon!"

“Oh, is that what it’s called, ‘Losing Control’?” Rumarin’s voice reached a shrill pitch. His breath puffing out before him in the cold night air. 

“Are you so preoccupied you cannot see we just left her to an entire coven of vampires?” Inigo’s normally calm voice held a hint of panic.

His thoughts had been so caught up on Akhara being a werewolf that he hadn’t considered any harm actually coming to her. She seemed so… invincible. He looked at Inigo. “What do we do?”

"We could destroy the scaffolding in the cave, preventing anything from getting out."

"How will she get out?"

"I… do not know. We should think of something, once she is back to normal. That is, if she doesn't climb it as a werewolf."

"Can she?" Rumarin's voice came off a pitch higher than normal.

Inigo shrugged. 

“You don’t think she will, do you?” 

“I have no idea. I have only known her to change a few times before. She usually retains some of her faculties when she changes. She has never attacked_ me _. You noticed she drinks a strong potion during the full moon? It is to make her sleep.” 

Ah, so_ that _was why she always slept in so late. Rumarin shivered and looked out over the marsh. It seemed quiet. There was no sign of the vampires or the woman currently trapped with them. His chest twisted at the thought. 

He didn't want to go back there. He'd been paid and debt with the pirates was erased. Volf was in prison. And yet… a part of him, the smallest part really, felt guilty. 

"She couldn't have picked any other daedric prince? Hircine?" Rumarin said breathlessly. "She couldn't pick Sheogorath or something?" 

“We should keep watch," Inigo said stiffly. 

Rumarin sensed he had crossed a line somewhere. 

"I think, she may even be too large to get through this cave opening," Inigo said. "But we should watch for vampires, just in case."

Rumarin nodded, and sat down next to him and rested his elbows on his knees. Staring off into the blackness of the wild marsh. 

.

.

.

.***.

At some point he dozed off. When he woke again Inigo had fallen asleep next to him. Rumarin looked around. It was getting closer to dawn, the dark sky wasn’t quite so black anymore. 

His ears pricked up as he heard something off to the right. He scanned the marsh again, and felt the air leave his lungs. 

There was something. A shape of black where there should have been some light. The humanoid shadow turned. Rumarin forgot how to breath. Light glinted off two yellow cat like eyes that lifted and met his. Rumarin couldn’t for the life of him remember how to swallow. After seven impossibly long seconds, they blinked, and disappeared. 

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Dawn came. The two of them glancing towards the cave as light began to show over the horizon. Rumarin ached something fierce after sleeping on the ground. 

The cave entrance was quiet. They stepped in, following the narrow crevice until it opened up to the chamber with the scaffolding leading down. 

Inigo stepped forward, ears back and one hand on his sword. Rumarin placed a hand on Inigo’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure she’s-” 

_ (okay) _ is what he was going to say. What he would have said. 

If there hadn’t been noise coming from further inside the cave. 

Noise that turned into swearing. 

Rumarin felt Inigo sigh with relief as Akhara emerged from the cave, one hand dragging her staff as he realized she was wearing different clothes, and had haphazardly thrown all her daggers together in what looked like a boot that she was carrying in her other arm. 

Her face shot up as she saw them standing at the mouth of the cave. Inigo rushed forward to envelope her a hug. Rumarin saw her expression soften a bit, before she looked over Inigo’s shoulder and saw him. Akhara gave him a peculiar look, surprise maybe, that he was still here? To be honest, he didn’t quite know why he was still here himself, so he simply shrugged back. 

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.***.

The Jarl thanked them for their service once they returned to Morthal. Townspeople gathered around the gates as they returned, all of them wanting to hear about what had happened with the Vampires. 

Rumarin had made up an embellished story about Movarth meeting his end. One that didn't involve werewolves. He saw Akhara give him one thankful nod out of the corner of his eye. 

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.***.

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“So, let me get this straight; you're a bloody werewolf!” Rumarin opened his mouth the moment the three of them were out of Morthal and back on the road. 

“Like you don't have secrets,” she said.

“I don't have secrets, I have embarrassing stories. None of which would potentially land someone in mortal peril!” 

_ (Liar) a little voice said _

“Yes, I'm a werewolf, as you've seen." 

"Where you always a werewolf?" He asked.

"Where you always a swit?" she muttered. 

Inigo cleared his throat. Rumarin didn't miss the look that passed between them. 

"No. I was, changed," she said through gritted teeth, "around fourteen." 

Rumarin sensed it was something of an uncomfortable topic. How exactly one was turned into a werewolf, he didn't know, other than it involved being bitten. Much like vampires, he thought. So he figured it was best to change the subject. 

“Wow, when I was fourteen my biggest problem was finding my socks,” Rumarin said. 

Akhara said nothing, giving him sidelong look as she blinked at him disapprovingly. 

“You know, you're the only person I know who can make silence sarcastic,” he said. "There's still one thing I don't understand though. Why did you agree to track down the vampires?" Rumarin thought back to the burned house. 

"Vengeance."

"For you being a werewolf?" 

Akhara frowned. "No. For the little girl." 

Rumarin sat in silence on his rented horse, watching Akhara and Inigo move ahead along the road. So she hadn't done this for coin. She hasn't even done this for herself. Rumarin silently wondered if maybe he had misjudged her. Maybe she did have a heart after all.

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.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love love love that quest in Morthal with Movarth.


	7. Graverobber...graverobber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akhara breaks her leg because she thinks she’s invincible. The gang learns about gardening. And Mercer Frey makes a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some depictions of broken bones/compound fractures, and panic attacks. 

.***.

Graverobber…

Graverobber

.***.

  
  


_ Rumarin _

  
  


The road from Morthal to Dawnstar became less ice and slush-like and more snow covered the further they went along the mountain range. Having finished tracking down the last of the blade pieces for that one madman in Dawnstar. Rumarin ran through the events in his head; tracking down the bandits, fighting that hagraven- a bloody hagraven- for the damn pommel, and then of course the venture into the cesspool that was Morthal for the last piece and consequently fighting an ancient vampire. Oh, and learning that Akhara was a werewolf. 

Rumarin _ still _ had a hard time wrapping his head around _ that _ particular revelation. 

But he supposed it made sense in the end. Her strength; physically, she was unusually tall for a human, not quite as tall as him, but still. And he didn't need to know she was a werewolf to know she would have no problem lifting a fully grown nord man over her head with no help. Then there was her keen sense of smell. On occasion he noticed she seemed to smell things before even Inigo did. But her eyes weren't yellow. He wasn't sure if that was a myth, that those who were werewolves had yellow eyes, but her's were brown. And, he noticed, those eyes were glaring at him as he'd probably been staring at her from his horse, lost in thought. He quickly cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to be gazing at the scenery. 

So he followed her and Inigo once again to Silus’ house. And Akhara demanded Silus let her look at the notes he’d collected on the mythic dawn. And of course, Silus insisted they accompany him to Mehrunes Dagon’s shrine to reforge the dagger and _ of course _ Akhara trudged through the snow after the man, muttering curses under her breath. Inigo had given Rumarin a look on their way out the door. A look that said _ 'can you believe we are really doing this right now?' _

_ For a dagger? _

.

.

.

It was dark, and it was freezing, and Rumarin was pretty sure he’d heard wolves not too far away. On top of that his nose was frozen. His _ ears _ hurt. 

And that was why, when the voice that was Mehrunes Dagon himself demanded Akhara kill Silus, Rumatin was half hoping she would. 

Turns out he didn’t even have to wait for her to answer, because Silus saw her deadpan sidelong glance and attacked first. His body fell down the steps one strangled scream later. 

“Well done!” came Dagon’s voice. The back of Rumarins neck tingled in a way that had nothing to do with the wind. 

“Now, one final test.” Dagon's laughter echoed around Rumarin's head as two very large dremora emerged from the doorway under the statue. 

And that was when Rumarin realized why Akhara being a werewolf maybe wasn't the worst thing. If it meant he had nothing to worry about when literal dremora attacked them. If it meant dremora could be taken down as easily as a pair of bandits. 

.***.

Now, Rumarin and Inigo followed her heading back to Dawnstar. Or were _ trying _. The time wasted with Silus had let a blizzard creep up on them, and he was struggling to keep sight of her, let alone keep up. It was all Rumarin could do to keep his horse from running off. The reins tight in his hands. Inigo seemed to be faring no better and suggested they make camp before things got worse. Akhara turned and nodded. 

They found a small rocky outcropping at the base of the mountain that thankfully blocked most of the wind. 

"Figures there would be a snow storm," Rumarin said, letting his pack drop to the ground with a soft crunching noise as it hit the snow. "And that we only have a bit of food and it's impossible to get anything else. I'm beginning to see why the people here are so glum all the time."

Akhara looked up from her spot where she was crouched, trying to start a small fire. “Maybe if you didn’t complain so much?” 

“Maybe I’m complaining exactly the right amount. You never know.”

The wood sparked as a small flame came to life. Soon there was a small fire in the snow hidden behind their little outcropping they'd found. 

Inigo had brought the horses over and was calming one of them down and brushing their mane. While Rumarin gathered a few of their food items they’d packed and began trying to make something with what they had. Easier said than done, he thought. Since so far they had apples, venison, and carrots. 

“So we got a dagger. In exchange for some research notes on the Oblivion Crisis? After everything we went through, that's it?” 

“You know,” Inigo said, still brushing his horse, “he has a point.” 

“We got gold off him too,” she said. “The two of you can keep it. I just want the notes.” Which was true. They’d been paid and also taken any coin on his person. 

“Why so much interest in the oblivion crisis?” Rumarin asked. 

“I’m not interested in the Oblivion Crisis,” she said.

Rumarin stared at her, waiting. She was obviously interested in something, since she'd spent so long on this job. They all had, but Rumarin was interested in coin. Inigo… he wasn't quite sure where his motivations lay but he didn't strike him as someone interested in daedric artifacts.

“I’m interested in how Mankar Camoran created his pocket dimension, ‘paradise’, or whatever they called it.” 

Rumarin sat stock still for a moment. Creating dimensions sounded like extra planar daedric magic. In fact, they'd pissed with enough daedric forces these last few weeks to last him a lifetime. 

But instead of saying that, he said “wow. I can think of a lot of uses for one’s own pocket dimension. For example, we could get out of this blizzard whenever we wanted.” 

Akhara cracked a crooked half smile, “if only." 

Rumarin focused on stirring the cooking pot as the three of them worked in silence. Inigo with the horses, Akhara setting up the tents against the rock, and Rumarin, cooking. 

But he had never been good with silence. In fact most of the time he looked for a way to fill it. Maybe it was because he grew up among a large group. Or maybe it was because he was insufferable. But halfway through the pathetic excuse for stew that they were eating, he couldn't stand it anymore. 

“What are you really doing here?” he blurted out. “In Skyrim, I mean. I know that whole ‘oh the guild master from Cyrodiil sent me’ is hogwash. I mean, why stay in this province if you don't have to.” 

Akhara and Inigo shared a quick look before she answered. "I’m looking for someone." 

"Oh,” Rumarin poked at his stew. “Anyone I might know?" 

"I doubt it."

“Well, you never know, I’ve met a lot of people,” Rumarin said. 

“You've met my mother?” Akhara said, her tone implying he most certainly had not. 

“Um…” Rumarin faltered, “no,” briefly trying to remember if he’d ever met anyone who even looked remotely like Akhara. “Where do you… think she is?” Rumarin’s question struck a nerve, judging by the way her shoulders tightened and Inigo’s ears twitched from across the fire. 

“I don't know,” Akhara said. “Maybe Skyrim, maybe Highrock. That's the thing about missing people, they tend to be… hard to find.” 

“So… you're going around doing all these jobs all over the province, just hoping you’ll hear something?” 

“In a sense.” 

Rumarin desperately wanted to know what this had to do with learning how to create one's own pocket dimension, but he could sense he was pushing his luck by asking as much as he had already. 

Inigo seemed to pick up his desperate need for conversation. Instead asking him questions about life on the road, something Inigo also seemed a bit familiar with, having traveled with his late brother. And Rumarin was happy to swap stories about his childhood with Inigo. Though he was a little envious that Inigo had grown up being allowed to learn the sword and bow. 

“Akhara,” Inigo said, “I don't think you’ve ever told me where you grew up?”

“Kvatch."

Inigo pursed his mouth and gave Rumarin a look. 

"Really?" Rumarin looked up from his stew. "I'm just surprised, since your accent is more colovian than gold coast. That's a good thing though." 

She shrugged. "We spent winters in Anvil." 

"Did you ever get to Skingrad?" Inigo asked. "I hear the wines are to die for!" 

“I was in Skingrad once,” Rumarin piped up. “We ventured there for jester's day. To put on a show for the count I think. I couldn't have been more than twelve, but seeing as I was younger they let me watch one of our carts while the others were off performing. I was so caught up in my thoughts I almost didn't notice when a young local stole an apple off our cart. I'd gotten it into my head that I ought to be brave and all that nonsense, so I chased them.” 

“Did you catch them?” said Inigo.

“No. They ran through the streets and I lost them.” Rumarin shrugged. “I figured they were a starving orphan so I let them keep it. At least that's what I told myself to feel better about it anyway… and that's why I always guard my apples.”

“Is that a metaphor for something?” said Inigo “It sounds like good advice.” 

“No, but, well...now that you mention it, it probably should be…” he drifted off, staring into the flames at the base of the campfire, and noticed Akhara staring at him from across the fire. He quickly averted his eyes and stared down into the contents of his own mug, trying to put his finger on why her pointed glare made him feel like he was twelve years old. 

.***.

The next morning they made their way back to Dawnstar. The trip was much quicker now that there was sunshine and no wind. In fact, aside from the cold, it was rather pleasant, Rumarin thought. 

Akhara revealed there was a ruin just off the coast that held some artifacts a buyer wanted from the Thieves Guild. They left the horses in town, and took a small boat out to an island just visible off the coast. Even with the sun, fog and mist covered the water. 

“What is this place called again?” Inigo asked. 

“Yngvild,” said Akhara. “There was a mage named Arondil. Or a necromancer, whatever. He supposedly left some writing that the buyer is interested in.” 

Inigo’s ears went back, “You know how I feel about these nord ruins.” 

“I know. I’ll handle the draugr, if you handle the trolls.” 

“All of them?” Inigo joked. 

“I can try,” she smiled. 

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.***.

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The ruins of Yngvild were indeed partly covered in ice. And eerily silent. Rumarin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he summoned his bow. There was something… off, about this ruin. There was some sort of stillness to the air. But so far they hadn't encountered anything living, or well… moving. 

They came to a circular room, a ledge of stone leading down in a curving fashion along the wall, leading to another door. The ledge was broken on the other side, 

"I can make that." Akhara backed up, planted her feet to run and leapt. 

Rumarin heard the draugr the moment her feet left the ground. 

It's glowing eyes fixated on them as it inhaled and a terrible sound came from its mouth. 

He felt the force of it push him back, feet sliding on the icy floor as Inigo was pushed into him.

Akhara was knocked clear out of the air, slamming into the ice. 

His stomach lurched as she went plummeting down. Landing with a sickening crack against one of the ice ledges at least ten feet below. 

Ears ringing, he heard her cry out in pain and frustration. 

Well at least they knew she was alive. 

Ingio jumped up. Running past Rumarin he jumped towards the draugr, sword aiming for its head

Tightening his grip on his bow, he fired at it until the light went out from its eyes.

Inigo kicked the body of the draugr once before going over to the ledge to look down. "Akhara?" 

Rumarin glanced over the edge, sure enough, she sat there twenty feet down, holding her leg at an odd angle. 

“I need a potion." Her voice was strained. 

Rumarin kept one eye over his shoulder towards where the draugr had come from as they made their way down the spiraling ledge to where Akhara had fallen. He didn't bother letting his bow down. 

Inigo reached her and handed her a healing potion. Akhara took a dagger and ripped open the already scuffed fabric of her pant leg, exposing the skin. She uncorked the bottle and poured it's red contents all over her leg. There were darker lines against her skin that ran along her leg where the clothing was torn. Tattoos? He realized the pattern along her calf and thigh was of dragons tongue flower. Rumarin felt a buzzing sound in his head as he noticed a large area of her thigh turning darker and misshapen. 

"I told you these draugr caves are a bad idea," Inigo said. 

“Stop it,” Akhara swatted at Inigo’s hands, “you have magika potions, yes?” 

“Oh here,” Rumarin held out one of his small blue vials. 

Akhara drank them in one gulp and pressed both her hands down onto her leg, eyes screwing up in pain, glowing light surrounded her hands as the bone straightened out. Ingio made a noise that told Rumarin he was about as queasy as him right now. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Inigo hovered over her, looking on in worry as he pulled her gingerly to her feet. 

“I can walk,” Akhara said. 

“That might be,” Inigo said, “but you’re not in any condition to fight.” 

Rumarin nodded in agreement. Her leg was still flushed and swollen. But at least the bone was no longer visibly broken. Still, she needed a proper healer. And they were in a _ cave _. 

“We have three of the journals, isn't that enough?” Rumarin said. 

“Vekel said he wanted all four,” Akhara's face revealing a stubbornness that Rumarin just _ knew _ would mean if he and Inigo didn't get the journals, she would. 

"Fine," Inigo said, "but _ we _ will get the fourth one." He gestured to himself and Rumarin.

“I guess I'll stay here then," she said as she carefully sat down on a rock. "I’ll be fine." And she waved them off. 

.***.

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The next few hallways were deserted. No more draugr. He almost thought they were going to get lucky and just find the last journal laying around. 

Then he saw the ghosts. 

The narrow tunnel opened up into a wide cavern. Between the stalagmites he could see someone, an altmer, sitting on what looked like a self made throne, surrounded by ghosts that were doing his bidding. It struck him as odd, but all the ghosts were female...

Inigo wrinkled his nose in disgust, whiskers twitching as they saw one of the ghosts begin to rub the man's feet. 

Inigo nudged him and pointed to another tunnel. They would either have to sneak across this chamber, or fight their way through it. He preferred the first option. 

Rumarin couldn't help but wish for that shadow stone ability he found so annoying. It would have come in handy right now. 

He backed up along the wall, his heart stopped with dread as he felt his elbow bump something behind him.

A soul gem clattered to the icy ground. 

Every eye in the room turned to stare at him. 

Then the ghosts attacked the man on the throne with such ferocity, Rumarin was reminded momentarily of harpies. 

And when it was done, the man on the throne sagged, and each of the ghosts faded, leaving behind nothing but the altmers corpse. 

"Whatever you just did," Inigo whispered, "please don't do it again." 

.***.

"Well Arondil is dead, and we got the last journal." Rumarin said cheerily, handing the journal over to Akhara. "Better yet, the ghosts even helped once I knocked over a soul gem, accidentally," he added. 

“Perfectly deserved, I’d say.” 

"And you agreed to come to this gods forsaken ice covered place why? I hope Vekel pays a fortune."

"They found a woman near Dawnstar. After hearing about this Arondil and his 'experiments' I thought it wouldn't be so bad to pay Yngvild a visit. I really don’t give a skeevers hide about the journals. I just wanted that man dead." 

"You could have just led with that!" Inigo cried.

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.***.

They practically hobbled back to Dawnstar. While Akhara walked on her own, her leg was giving her trouble. More often than not she had to stop and lean on one of them for support. Though Rumarin had to give her credit. If _ he _ had seen the bone sticking out of his leg only an hour ago and then had it magically healed to a point where it was usable but still probably broken, he would likely be on the floor, complaining, much less walking through snow back to Dawnstar. 

The doors to the Jarl’s longhouse were nearly frozen shut with snow until Inigo kicked, forcing them open. 

"We need a healer!" Inigo said. 

One of the nearby guards at the door took one look at Akhara, who was leaving heavily on Inigo, and called out. “Madena!”

A small breton woman appeared from one of the side rooms, "What is it?"

"Her leg," Inigo said, gesturing with his free hand when Akhara just grunted. He had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to avoid opening her mouth, her brow already screwed up in pain.

"How did this happen?" She asked, waving the three of them into the room off to the left. Which appeared to be her workstation. 

"She fell," Rumarin said. 

"Get up on that table. And bite this." Madena handed something over to Akhara, who groaned as though she knew what was coming.

Madena’s hands ghosted over Akhara’s leg, a small glow emanating from her hands as she examined the freshly healed wound. “It will have to be reset.” 

His face felt hot. He struggled to control the twitching in his hands. There was no threat. He knew that. They were just getting help from a healer. Yes, she was a healer. He wasn't even the one who was injured. Rumarin moved to lean against the table, fist grabbing the edge as he attempted to hide his nerves. 

Inigo was looking at him with worry written along his furry brow. Rumarin gave him a small smile, hoping he would think he was just queasy about healing magic. 

"The two of you may want to leave," Madena said, giving them both a pointed stare. 

Rumarin was out the door before she finished speaking. Inigo close on his heels. The door closed behind them as they were back in the main hall. Rumarin leaned against the wall, away from the large fire pit. He looked over to the other end of the hall where the chair for the Jarl sat, vacant. 

The guard who had let them in stood by the door, giving Rumarin and Inigo a sympathetic look as he could hear Madena continuing to talk to Akhara through the wood walls. 

All three of them jumped as a particularly wolfish yelp came from the next room, followed by Madena swearing, and then silence. 

The door opened and Madena emerged from the room, all three of them trying to look like they hadn’t been staring at the door the entire time. “Well, I can say that's the first time I’ve seen someone bite through wood,” she said, making her way over to the wash bowl. 

“Is she alright?” Inigo asked, his furry ears perking up. 

“She should be fine, as long as she doesn't break it again.” Madena looked up, “as for right now, I put her to sleep for a bit. I get the feeling she isn’t the type to rest,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

Inigo made a worried face and looked at Rumarin, who stopped nodding his head behind Inigo’s back. 

“She should wake up shortly,” Madena said, as if reading Inigo’s mind. The khajiit walked into the room, presumably to check on Akhara. 

“So you’re the court mage?” Rumarin asked. 

"Aye, if you can call it that.” Madena finished washing her hands and threw the rag she used to dry her hands rather roughly. “The Jarl can make all the demands in the world, I'm not setting one foot on the battlefield. I cut enough lives short in the Great War. I'm not going to do it again."

“You fought in the Great War?”

Madena took a breath through her lips. “Yes,” she nodded. “When they sacked the Imperial City, I was there. Blasting apart young elven men and women with fire and lightning. By Akatosh, all the blood,” her voice turned to a whisper, “The smell of flesh burned and pulled apart by magic. I never want to do that to another soul again. I became horrified by the destruction my spells wrought. I vowed to never again use my spells on the battlefield.” 

Rumarin stood perfectly still, trying to focus on breathing, and not how warm it was, and not how his mouth seemed to clam up. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to unnerve you,” she placed a cool hand on his arm. “It is difficult to talk about. And around here I tend to keep those thoughts to myself. Jarl Skald and I don't exactly see eye to eye.” 

Rumarin felt the room grow cooler and he let out a sigh in relief as the temperature returned to normal. It became easier to breathe. 

Madena lifted her hand and gave him a sympathetic smile before turning to head back into the other room. Rumarin stood there, leaning against the walls of the longhouse, genuinely wondering if that was what a calm spell felt like. 

.***.

Several minutes passed by of Rumarin trying to count the wood slats in the walls before Akhara walked out of the room followed by Inigo and took one look at him and raised her eyebrows. "What?" 

"You are walking no problem now?" Inigo sounded concerned. 

Akhara simply raised her eyebrows even higher and gestured to her leg, which she was indeed standing on no problem. 

"Still, it was only just healed," Rumarin offered. "Shouldn't we maybe, I don't know, lay low for one night least?" 

"Why?" She looked at both of them like they were incredulous. "It's healed. We have jobs to do." 

"Like what?" Rumarin said, flabbergasted she would still want to travel today after everything. 

"Going back to Riften for one. And on the way we can find that tree that one priestess at Whiterun wanted."

"The gildergreen?" Rumarin asked, wondering exactly how many 'jobs' Akhara had lined up her sleeve that would end up taking them through some cold damp cave. 

"Yes, that one. Except she wants bark from the original one, the elder something. It's out in the rift. I've had the dagger I stole from the witches for ages."

"You're serious?"

"Should I joke instead?"

Rumarin bit his tongue. It wasn't that he was lazy and just wanted to rest for a day or two. He was. But that did not change the fact that magical healing, extensive or repeated, left one with certain… side effects. 

And having the bones of your leg go from sticking out of the skin to being hastily healed and then broken again and healed a second time, definitely counted as extensive in his book. 

Too much repeated healing in one area could cause loss of sensation, dizziness, nausea, a whole host of side effects ranging from bad to worse. The worst case scenario being paralysis. He'd seen her use her healing for minor cuts and scrapes in battle before, and none of them were strangers to health potions. But still, he could never shake the feeling of lightheadedness that came with it. 

She didn't _ look _ lightheaded. No sweat was beading on her forehead. Her skin didn't look discolored. She looked… healthy. And slightly annoyed. 

"You are not getting me in any more caves today," Inigo said, crossing his arms. 

“Fine. The inn then?” Akhara said, when Inigo still did not move she added, “I’ll pay for your drinks.” 

“I’d take it if I were you,” Rumarin said to Inigo, “sure the offer would mean a lot more if we weren’t in _ Dawnstar _, but you should never look a free ale in the mouth, or something.” 

Inigo let out a sigh.

.***.

True to fashion, they stayed another night in Dawnstar. This time with no nightmares or crazy dream priests. Though Rumarin still didn't sleep well. 

They traveled on the road for several days into eastmarch in search of the cave of Kynareth that held the Eldergleam tree. The snowy mountains of the pale gradually giving way to wetlands and hot springs. At one point they had almost stumbled onto a giants camp. Akhara had frozen, and held out an arm and gestured for the two of them to back away. It wasn't until he heard a loud snoring sound that he realized that the clump of boulders to their right was not a clump of boulders at all, but a giant. He had never come so close to a giant in his life. 

Finally, after nearly a whole day of wandering around the wetlands, they found signs of camp, and a small sign outside designating eldergleam sanctuary. 

Rumarin pursed his lips at the sight of the cave entrance descending down to blackness. Akhara picked up a torch that lay by the entrance, and lit it. Inigo and Rumarin followed behind her. 

After several minutes of nothing but carved rock and dirt Inigo began fidgeting. "This is the bloody cave she meant?" Inigo said tersely. And Rumarin had to agree. This cave was more of a small tunnel that was entirely unremarkable. 

“I can hear… water?” Akhara sounded uncertain. 

“I hear nothing but the sound of our impending doom as we stay with all this ground over our heads,” Inigo muttered. 

Akhara lowered the torch. There was some light coming from up ahead. The tunnel twisted again, leading them further down. Rumarin noticed the light seemed to be getting brighter, and more vegetation appeared along the tunnel walls. Rumarin could hear the water now too. Soon they were walking through a small path between ferns and bushes all running along the tunnel walls. Until the tunnel abruptly opened up; A large cavern stretched skyhigh. 

A small river flowed under their feet as they walked across a man made bridge. Several people were lounging about, sitting on the banks near the river, some praying, some eating, others had small campfires. 

Further to the back of the cavern, a rocky slope led up to what could only be the Eldergleam. It’s roots tangled and broke through the ground, obstructing the path in several places. The tree itself must have been as wide as a giant, and twice as tall. Brilliant red leaves swayed gently on the branches from the wind and sunlight that poured in from the opening above. 

"Excuse me, I think I dropped my jaw somewhere," Rumarin said, coming to an abrupt halt as Inigo nearly walked into him. 

A nord man sitting near the bridge looked up as they entered. "Welcome to Eldergleam Sanctuary, my friends. Have you come to see the Eldergleam? Kynareth humbles us with her beauty.” 

“We have,” Akhara said. 

The nord man nodded, “just continue up the path. We have several fires going already, if you’d like to stay a while.” 

Akhara simply nodded and continued on. Rumarin had to admit, as beautiful as this cavern was, he wasn't keen on sharing food with a bunch of Kynareth worshippers who would probably scorn him for eating meat or something. 

They continued up the well worn path, smoothed from centuries of foot traffic until they came to the top. The closer they got to the tree, the thicker the tangled roots became, until they blocked anyone from reaching the base of the tree entirely. 

Rumarin saw Akhara pull one of her daggers out, only this one had a twisted, almost green shimmer to the blade. The very roots began to move. Enough to allow passage. 

A breton man with dark hair yelled out. Akhara stopped and turned as the man ran towards them. She lowered the blade but the muscles in her arm did not relax. 

“What exactly are your intentions in this blessed place?" the man demanded. 

“Who are you?” Inigo asked, somewhat defensively, before Akhara could take a step closer to the man. 

“I am Maurice Jondrelle. I am a traveler. A pilgrim. I follow the voice of Kynareth wherever it can be heard. I should be asking who _ you _ three are, and why you have _ that _,” he nodded angrily to the blade Akhara still held. 

Akhara looked like she wanted nothing more than to club the man over the head. “We need sap from the tree,” she explained, “to renew the one in Whiterun.” 

Maurice was aghast. "You would violate this marvel to fix that half-breed stump in Whiterun? That's abominable. Barbaric!” 

“It's just a tree,” Akhara scoffed. 

“This tree is a symbol of Kynareth’s glory,” Maurice raised a hand and swung his arm wide gesturing to the tree. “It is a sacred place to one of Skyrim’s most beloved of the eight divines!” 

Rumarin fought the urge to grimace. 

Akhara blinked and closed her eyes a bit longer than usual. “You know another way to heal the tree in Whiterun then?” 

"Well... yes.” Maurice looked down at the ground before looking up again. “There is something. It won't repair the tree back at the temple, but we could bring them a new one." 

Akhara raised an eyebrow, “Danica just wanted sap, not a whole new tree.” 

Rumarin had to agree. Getting a new tree was great and all, but it did sound like more work, for them. 

"I think I can convince the tree to help us," Maurice said, kneeling down in prayer in front of the tree. 

“You can what?” Inigo’s furry brow cortorned into concern. Either for what was about to happen or the man’s mental wellbeing. 

“See! There! A sapling!” Maurice jumped up and ran to where a small sprig of a tree was poking out of the ground. "The Eldergleam has blessed us with a sapling!”

“That was just… growing there already.” Akhara rubbed at her temples with one hand. 

Maurice turned back to them, smiling wide. “Kynareth wishes for the Gildergreen in Whiterun to be reborn, not kept alive with slavish maintenance.”

This time Akhara did not hide her expression when she rolled her eyes as Maurice began digging up the small sprig with his hands.

"You should take it to Whiterun. Danica will want to see that the true blessings of nature lie in renewal." He held out the sprig, dirt and all. 

Rumarin winced as he plopped the sapling into Akhara’s hands. Her mouth a thin line as she held the bundle of dirt and roots. 

“I envy you getting to carry such a direct sign of Kynareth's graces,” said Maurice. 

“_You_ could carry it to Whiterun,” Akhara said through gritted teeth. 

"Oh, no. I believe I'll stay here and bask in Eldergleam's warmth a bit longer." Maurice walked away from them then, going back to worship the tree. Akhara huffed and lifted up the small tree to eye level, inspecting it as if it were potentially dangerous. It was... a small sprig of a plant, barely longer than his fingers. 

Rumarin leaned in, measuring it with his hand. "Well, Danica's right. This new tree won't bring nearly as much money, I mean _ pilgrims _, to her temple." 

"How are we going to get this to Whiterun?" she said, her tone implying she would rather throw it in the sulphur pools outside. 

“Er… we could make a pot?” Inigo offered. 

“Oh, here, use my bowl,” came a cheery voice as a short nord woman came up who had been sitting a ways near the river. 

She held out a small wooden bowl and Akhara dropped the offending sapling inside. “Would you look at this little tree,” she smiled, tickling the sapling with a finger. “They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but it's remarkable how often those eyes are mine.” 

“Really?” Rumarin said, unable to help the sarcasm that leaked into his voice.

“Oh yes!” she looked up, smiling wider, “the water, the animals, the trees, all clay which Dibella molds into inedible art. And at the heart of every explorer, is an admirer of that beauty. I envy you getting to carry this little guy out into the world!” 

“Well, you must be a better adventurer than me,” Akhara said.

“Yes but you're not an adventurer, you're a mercenary,” Rumarin said to Akhara as she met his response with crossed arms and a glare. 

“The name’s Amalee.” Amalee looked between the three of them, holding the small plant in her bowl. “You don't think it’s beautiful? What this little tree represents, it's potential. It's our duty as adventurers to bring the people to the tree, and the tree to the people!”

“I think it is… cute,” Inigo said finally, shrugging when Akhara looked at him with betrayal written on her face. 

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.***.

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Inigo had agreed to deliver the sapling back to Danica in Whiterun, while Akhara was going to head east to Riften, and Rumarin with her. Then they would separate, and he would travel to Windhelm, where he planned on staying and checking in with Ulundil. His problem with Volf and the pirates resolved… for now. He had said it was probably time for him to take his leave anyway, Ulundil was probably wondering where he had gone, and he had a feeling Akhara was fairly eager to be rid of his company too. 

But he had to admit traveling with them had been nicer than wandering around Windhelm for weeks and dealing with the pointed hints from Arivanya asking _ when _he would be moving on and Ulundil, bless his heart, being completely oblivious to his wife’s frustration. Or if he wasn’t, he at least did a good job of making Rumarin think he was welcome. 

“I hope we will see you again,” Inigo had said before leaving with the tree, holding the small bowl like one would hold an infant. 

“Well, you know where to find me. It's not like I'll be hard to spot in Windhelm."

"Be safe in your travels. Do try not to get into too much trouble without us." Inigo's furry hand clapped him on the back. 

Only now to survive a week or so of traveling alone, with Akhara. Right. 

He could do that. 

Maybe. 

.***.

_ “I don't have time to go trekking to Windhelm, in the opposite direction from where I need to go.” _Akhara said to an irritated looking Mercer back in Riften. 

Upon their return to Riften, the first thing Akhara had done was slip back into the cistern and talk to Mercer about the ‘Karliah’ Gulum-Ei had mentioned. And dragged him with her. While Rumarin had talked to the old bald Delvin about the shop in Solitude that would now be none the wiser to the guild stealing their shipment. Across the cistern, Mercer seemed to think this Karliah person was waiting for him in some ruin north of Windhelm. Supposedly to finish off the job of murdering the guildmaster. Akhara had been less than impressed.

_ “So this is the source of your ‘bad luck’? All your troubles? And here Harel had me trek across Nirn for some petty revenge plot?” _

_ "Her petty revenge, as you call it, almost undid the guild. There's only one place she would be. The place where she murdered Gallus... a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum. We have to go out there before she disappears again." _

_ “We?” _

_ "Yes, I'm going with you and together we're going to kill her. Prepare yourself and meet me at the ruins.” _

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So now Akhara was traveling to Windhelm as well. A bit angrily, Rumarin noticed, and he wasn't sure if that was because she hated Mercer Frey and didn't like it when things didn't go how she planned, or if she was just sick of his presence. Either way, they still managed to walk together without talking much. It wasn't too bad, he admitted to himself, traveling alone with her. He had been nervous about Inigo leaving. But he did have to admit it was probably safer traveling to Windhelm with Akhara than by himself. Especially through stormcloak territory. 

The eastmarch was fairly pleasant this time of year, Rumarin thought. Minus the war camps, of course. They had left Shor's Stone and continued down the road, looking down over the hills and the zigzagging path as it descended towards the flatter marsh lands up ahead. From up here they could see for miles. 

And there were indeed what looked like camps of soldiers in the distance. Akhara climbed up a tree to get a better view while Rumarin leaned against the trunk, and began idly rolling a coin between his fingers. 

"There's a skirmish down there. Looks like Stormcloaks," Akhara called down. 

"Then I'd wager there's also Imperial soldiers.” Rumarin looked up. “Who do you think will win?" 

"The war? Or this skirmish? Bloody swits, the lot of them." 

“You don't support the Stormcloaks?” he called up to her from his spot against the tree. 

Akhara scoffed. “Hardly. You’d think they would both realize the only ones benefiting from the Civil War are the Thalmor.” 

“I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if the Imperials and the Stormcloaks even had two brains to rub together between the two of them.”

Akhara began to maneuver her way down from the tree. “Is that some kind of altmer supremacy joke?” 

“Oh I have no opinion either way. Your politics are my politics,” he placed a hand over his heart solemnly. 

She landed with a thud, standing up straight she turned to him. “That's not an answer.” 

“I know but I've learned that discussing politics and religion is an exercise in futility. I'll just focus on more agreeable questions, like the weather. Just try and disagree with me on the weather." He pointed to the sun, and clear skies. "See, you can't," he smiled.

"The weather's terrible," she deadpanned. 

Rumarin raised an eyebrow at her. Still rolling the coin between his fingers. 

"It's too bright. No rain or cloud cover makes for poor hiding along the road. And given the circumstances, I wouldn't mind a bit of rain and dark if it helps me avoid the idiots fighting down there." She nodded towards the soldiers.

"Well, leave it to you to find a way to disagree with me on anything." 

“You're welcome,” she said, gathering her quarterstaff and walking down the path. 

“That wasn't a compliment!” he called after her. 

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.***.

They made it to Windhelm without coming across any other imperial soldiers. Having effectively avoided the ones they’d spotted on the road. The bridge still fairly busy with people and the war effort. Rumarin could just see Ulundil working in the stables. 

“I guess this is it,” Akhara said, her fur hood obscuring most of her face. 

“Is it time to separate already? We haven't even told each other our deepest darkest fears yet." Rumarin waited until she gave him _ that _ look. The one where she wanted to roll her eyes, but didn't. "Mine’s centaurs,” he finished. 

Akhara gave him an odd look then. He wasn't sure if she knew he was joking. He was joking, partly. Centaurs and land dreughs really freaked him out. 

Akhara turned around, her voice beat against the wind. "Well, I'd say it's been nice but… I'm sure the guild can send more jobs your way." 

"Right." Rumarin swolled. "Well. You know where I'll be."

Akhara nodded. Rumarin watched her walk back down the road to head west. 

“Do me a favor," she called back, hair whipping in the wind, "and avoid any… imperial forts.”

Rumarin frowned as she turned and disappeared into the snow, not sure why in oblivion she thought he would be tempted to go near any imperial forts. 

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.***.

He spent nearly two days in Windhelm. Ulundil was happy to see him. Arivanye less so, but it was nice to see them all the same.

But nearing the evening on the second day, Rumarin began to notice himself glancing out the windows at the bridge every few moments. Just in case. 

Rumarin made his way down the Windhelm bridge, the many vendors and shops for the war effort were closing down now as night fell. Many were heading back towards the city, the taverns.

He began making his way back towards the cornerclub. At least he could get away from the stables for a while. Ulundil was probably still working. And Arivanye would ask if he was going to be spending another night. And he would give her an apologetic look and Ulundil would clap him on the back, happy to have him for another night, while being oblivious to Arivanye's pointed stares. 

Rumarin was so absorbed in his own thoughts he almost didn't notice the lone figure that appeared at the city gates, heading towards the Candlehearth inn. 

He squinted through the snow. It was too short to be Akhara. And that build… Rumarin frowned as he recognized the figure. 

Mercer Frey walked across the town square. And there was no familiar tall redguard in sight. 

Rumarin felt his chest freeze as various horrible thoughts flitted through his mind. Each one worse than the last. He ducked back into an alleyway that would keep him out of sight of the main square. 

Peering back around, he saw Mercer Frey enter the tavern. Something about this did not sit right with Rumarin. Why would Akhara not have returned with Mercer? 

Without giving himself much time to think about the possible outcomes, Rumarin walked around to the back of the Candlehearth hall, towards the door he knew led to the kitchen, and entered. 

.***.

The interior was warm and softly lit. A balding nord man stood over the cooking spit, not paying Rumarin much mind. 

“Front door’s that way,” the cook gestured with his knife over his shoulder. 

“Right, thank you. I was just… hoping to surprise a friend,” Rumarin slipped past the nord man and out into the hallway of the inn. 

He could hear the scrape of wood on wood as a chair was pulled against the floor above him. Voices chattering away. No doubt the tavern upstairs was busy this time of night. If he could get close enough to listen in on Mercer, maybe he could find out what had happened. 

Rumarin was about to walk towards the stairs when the familiar leather boots of Mercer came into view. Rumarin ducked behind a door to the nearest room. 

His ears twitching as he heard Mercer’s foot falls just on the other side of the thin wooden wall. Steps heading for another room as Rumarin heard a door open, and several clunks and the sound of metal on wood before Mercer grunted, and retreated back to the upper floor. 

Rumarin let out a breath as soon as Mercer was back upstairs. Slumping against the doorway only to realize there was a young nord woman, staring at him with a small smile as she finished folding some blankets on the bed. 

“You shouldn't let Elda see you,” she said, brushing back her blonde hair. “She doesn’t like elves. Especially if she don't know them. Don't worry, I won't tell her you were hiding in here." She winked. "You look like you could use a drink. You didn't hear it from me, but if you want a real drink, try the Cornerclub in the Gray Quarter.” 

Rumarin couldn't seem to make his voice work, so he simply nodded before carefully stepping out into the hallway. 

“See you around, handsome.” 

Rumarin shivered and moved towards the room he’d heard Mercer enter. No one else was in sight downstairs. At the end of the hall he could see a few patrons at the bar where Elda kept most of the mead. None of them paying much attention to the dim hallway. 

He walked past Mercer’s room, one hand just slightly pushing the door ajar. He could see weapons thrown onto the floor.

The dwarven sword covered in dried blood.

And next to it, a short, sharp blade with an unmistakable black pommel that Rumarin knew to be none other than Mehrunes Razor. 

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_ “Ulundil, I need to borrow a horse!” _

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I did not mean for several months to go by without an update but eh... yeah life's been crazy. I hope you are all staying safe with the current uh... everything. I'm back in school (remote style) and studying medicine while all this is unfolding is, well, interesting. I am discovering that if I do not speak to at least 20 people a day, I suffer. Not that I’m an extrovert, I’m just introverted and lonely.   
I tried very much to avoid any medical descriptions/terms of the fracture reduction lol. But if you are curious, she probably had a mid shaft femur fracture given the distance of the fall and the force she took from the shout.   
And poor Rumarin, I have this headcanon that he was probably involved in the great war, and seeing healing magic be used, especially in an urgent situation, sets him on edge. Inigo is just queasy at the sight of bone. But give him a break that’s his friend on the table. Also I really want to draw Inigo carrying the sapling and whistling the whole way! 


	8. Honey and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The disaster duo meets Karliah. Rumarin learns a secret. And meets the future Archmage but none of them realize it.
> 
> Mentions of horse death in this chapter. (I'm sorry, the horse died. Blame Mercer Frey).

.***.

Honey and Thieves

.***.

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_ Rumarin _

  
  


It was several hours on horseback before he found the ruin of Snowveil. Luckily remembering where Akahra had marked it since she’d been so frustrated at how remote it was, she’d angrily shown him the map and pointed, cursing Mercer Frey’s name the entire time. 

Trying not to think of the various horrible ways he might find Akhara. She might be a terrible person. But she didn't deserve to die in some cold broken ruin. And certainly not at the hands of Mercer Frey.

He would have completely missed the ruin, covered by snow, if not for the signs of a small campfire, completely burnt out, along with two dead horses. The blood was stark against the snow. One of them looked familiar. It was the one Akhara had rented in Windhelm. 

Rumarin hopped off his own horse and climbed up to the lip of the ruin. There was nothing in the immediate area, an old circular set of steps led the way down to the ancient nordic doors decorated with snakes, still slightly ajar. 

He slipped down the icy steps and pushed the door open, squeezing inside he looked around. 

It was dark. A very faint fire light seemed to be coming from a second chamber up ahead. 

He crossed the first room with two pillars, the same sentence running through his head. _ “Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” _

His feet came to an abrupt stop as he slipped to a halt on the cold stone floor. A hooded figure was crouched over a body on the ground. The body on the ground that belonged to Akhara. 

The sound of his conjuring a bow turned the figures head. “Who are you?” he demanded, an arrow poised for their face. 

“Please-” the figure spoke as a surprisingly slender hand came up carefully to lower their hood. “I don’t wish to harm you.” 

Rumarin paused at the sight of the female dunmer. 

“I am only trying to save her life,” she gestured to Akhara’s form crumpled on the stone floor. 

Rumarin lowered his bow ever so slightly. “You’re Karliah,” he blurted out.

“Yes,” came the reply, “can I trust that you’re no friend of Mercer’s?"

“I'm not,” he allowed his bow to dissipate but didn't forget about the knife up his sleeve, “but I do know _ her _. And if you kill me by surprise I just want you to know I’ll be coming back to haunt you forever. How bad is it?” 

“Mercer stabbed her. She lives, but only because I managed to slow her bleeding, that won't last long. She will need proper healing." Karliah looked up at him, as if appraising his ears. "Can you?" She asked the question Rumarin was dreading. 

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm useless at healing spells."

“I have some more potions up by my camp. Those should help some once she wakes, at least,” Karliah finished. 

“Oh Akhara's no stranger to health potions," he joked, trying not to let it show how much it bothered him that his friend's unconscious form was between the two of them. 

_ Friend? When had he started thinking of her as such? More like a tentative ally. _

Rumarin looked down and felt his heart sink. He hadn’t even noticed the soaked wrapping across her middle. 

“I bound it best I could but I need to get my potions from my camp. Will you watch her?” 

Rumarin nodded, his face grim. Karliah disappeared into the dark to grab her things from her camp before returning with a small wooden box. Rumarin stood back, unsure what to do. 

Karliah rummaged about for her potion cache before pulling out a red bottle and some more bandages. He watched as she rewrapped what looked suspiciously like an arrow wound just below her shoulder.

“Well she'll have a scar. The poison on the arrow stopped her bleeding out but…” Karliah gestured to her blood soaked armor, “this amount of blood loss, she will be weak, but she'll survive.”

“Wait, arrow? But Mercer stabbed her?” 

“Yes, he did.”

“He shot her too?” 

“No...” Karliah paused pursing her lips, “I did.”

“You-?!” 

“Please, be at peace. My arrow was intended for Mercer,” she continued, “but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision, and it saved her life.” 

Rumarin stared at her with an open mouth. Akhara stirred and mumbled something in her poison induced sleep, distracting him. Her sleeping form which was slowly gaining color back in her cheeks. 

“Why didn’t you kill Mercer?” he said. 

Karliah eyed him, wondering if he could be trusted. It seemed she decided he could, because she spoke next. “Mercer lied to the guild, branded me a murderer and slandered my name across his network of contacts… for twenty-five years I ran. Never sleeping in the same place twice and carefully covering my tracks.” Her voice hardened. “Mercer doesn’t need to die. He needs to feel the cold sting of fate as his life crumbles around him as he’s hunted by the guild.” 

“Wait, so Mercer killed the previous guild master. Not you?” 

Karliah nodded. 

“Normally I’m not one to advocate for killing,” he said, “but with Mercer you might not have a choice next time.” 

“I can promise you if it comes to that, and my back’s to the wall. I won’t hesitate.” 

“Well at any rate, you’re going to have some competition,” he looked in Akhara’s direction.

“You think she would kill him?” Karliah asked.

“After this? Oh, definitely.” He nodded, “I mean she once killed a man for a dagger, I can’t imagine what she’ll do to Mercer. Not to mention I'm feeling a little vengeful myself.”

“Even if that’s the case,” Karliah continued, “she won’t stand a chance against him alone.” Rumarin wanted to argue that. He’d seen her take down a dragon. But he kept quiet. “In any case, you should rest,” Karliah said, “I will keep watch over her for now.”

Rumarin nodded reluctantly and sank down against a nearby wall. He fell into an uneasy sleep. Taking turns with Karliah to watch the entrance, should Mercer come back. Karliah didn’t seem to sleep at all, even when it was his turn to watch, she quietly studied an old book. Eventually, he drifted off into unconsciousness. 

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.***.

"You-” Akhara’s voice echoed through the ruin.

“Easy, easy,” Karliah said, “Mercer’s gone, but your friend, he's-” 

Rumarin scrambled to his feet and rounded the corner to find Akhara backed against the far wall, one hand leaning against it for support, the other holding a dagger and Karliah kneeling down a few paces away, her palms raised in a non threatening gesture as she tried to reason with the woman before her. 

“Oh good you’re awake!” he broke the sudden mounting tension in the room. 

He watched her eyes widen a fraction as she noticed him. She exhaled and crumpled down against the wall, deeming the situation safe enough to do so. Her arm circling her middle. 

He stepped between her and Karliah, just in case. “For a moment there I was worried I was going to have to avenge you. But now that you’re up you can avenge yourself. With my help.” He knelt down on both his knees and helped her into a more comfortable position. She still looked a little sickly, but her cheeks had some color again at least. 

“What are you doing here?” she eyed him suspiciously before glaring at Karliah, “you shot me.”

“No, I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison.” Karliah explained. 

Akhara groaned, her face screwed up in pain as she let her head lean back against the wall. 

“Where is Mercer?” She grunted. 

“Gone. He fled after leaving you in the ruin.”

“That fucking kwama. You should have shot him between the eyes.” 

Karliah frowned, “I only had enough of that poison for a single shot. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive.”

"Say, is there a reason the guildmaster stabbed you and left you for dead?" Rumarin asked. 

"Because he'd been revealed as Gallus's murderer," Karliah said. "Mercer knows his pull with the guild only goes so far. I wouldn't be surprised if the fact that you came from the imperial city frightened him.” 

“The guildmaster in Cyrodiil received a request for help from Riften, I saw it with my own eyes. Why would Mercer send for help only if he only planned on killing it?” 

“He wanted help tracking me. I don't think he planned on her sending you, or you being smart enough to figure it out. Once you came close, he knew he had to get rid of you. Mercer needs to be brought before the guild and answer for what he’s done,” Karliah said. “He needs to pay for Gallus’s murder.” 

Akhara laughed. Cold and hard. Well it was good to know she still had her terrible sense of humor. He sorely hoped they could get some healing potions soon, or at least some food. 

“And you plan to prove this?” Akhara sneered. Still staring off into a space on the wall. 

To her credit Karliah didn’t lose her temper, or maybe she didn’t care, Rumarin couldn’t really tell which. 

“My plan to use Snowveil sanctum wasn’t simply for irony’s sake,” Karliah reached back and brought forth a book. “Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus’s remains. I hoped the information we need was written inside.” 

“Oh good,” Rumarin said, “I was worried we’d have to hunt down evidence and all that. So what’s it say?” 

“I’ve no idea,” Karliah shrugged, “It’s written in some sort of language I’ve never seen.” 

“Can you translate it?” Rumarin asked. His earlier elation sinking.

“No, but I know someone who might.” Karliah tapped her chin, “Enthir, Gallus’s friend in Winterhold. If anyone could translate it, it’ll be him. He was the only one Gallus ever trusted with his Nightingale identity.” 

“You were Nightingales?” Akhara sounded slightly surprised. her voice peaked with interest

“You know about them?” Karliah studied her closely. “Yes, the three of us were the splinter from Riften.” 

“What's a Nightingale?” he looked between the two of them. 

“Nevermind that now," Karliah waved a hand. "What we need is to get this journal to Enthir. Once it's translated. We can use it as proof and bring it forward to the guild.” 

“Bring it forward to the guild?” Akhara said. "What makes you think I'll go along with you in the first place? My job was to find out what has the Riften guild so fucked. I've done that. It was you. I'm going home.”

“It isn't me, what Mercer's done… even if you leave or kill me it won't change what Mercer's done, his crimes-” 

“For killing an old guildmaster?”

“No,” Karliah's stare was hard. “Besides, even if you could get back to Cyrodiil there's one thing I think you're forgetting.”

“And what is that?”

“Mercer _ knows _ Harel sent you. He would have done the same thing he did to me. He's probably already told her you're dead and a traitor.” 

“So I'll just show up and tell her I'm not.” 

“Do you really think you can trust them?” Karliah said. 

Akhara regarded the dunmer woman for a long moment before letting out a disgruntled sigh. “Fine, I want the bastard dead. And I want to do it.” 

Karliah nodded. Rumarin looked between the two of them. Well, apparently they were allied with the ex-thieves guild elf now. The one who had been actively working against the guild, and supposedly, the reason Akhara had been sent to Skyrim in the first place. The irony wasn't lost on him. 

"The two of you should get to Windhelm, they'll have more supplies there, and trained healers."

“We don't have a horse. Mercer will have killed it.” Akhara stood and rubbed her head. 

“I have one," Rumarin said.

Karliah nodded and gathered her bow and knapsack. “We should move while it’s still daylight.” 

Rumarin pulled his fur coat back over his shoulders, noticing that while Akhara stood on her own, her breathing was still labored. Karliah was right. They would need to get to a healer before anything else. 

The three of them moved towards the entrance and Karliah opened the door to the ruin. The cold blew in with such force Rumarin realized he was very much not looking forward to riding to Winterhold. As they crested to the top of the stairs, looking out over the hills of snow upon snow, and distant mountains and fog that he knew to cover Winterhold. He breathed in, the cold air biting the inside of his lungs. At least the horse he’d borrowed from Ulundil was still there, tied to the tent Karliah had set up, that was now nearly covered with snow. 

“Once you get to Winterhold, find Enthir, and get this journal translated.” Karliah held out the journal she’d been thumbing. “He’s a member of the college. I’ll meet you there in a few weeks.”

“You're not coming?” 

"I'm afraid not. There are preparations to make and Gallus's remains to lay to rest. I promise to join you there as soon as I can."

Akhara nodded and walked forward into the snow. Rumarin gave Karliah one last glance before going to join her. Looking out towards Winterhold, the peak of the college was just visible over the horizon.

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.***.

“So, I know this isn’t the best time," Rumarin said, "but I should probably tell you that I am in no way capable of carrying you to Winterhold should you collapse.” He looked over to see her rolling her eyes. Strands of her dark curls were plastered against her forehead and cheeks. Rumarin didn’t like the fact that she was still ashen in the sunlight.

He slipped one arm under her shoulder to help her walk. Akhara looked at him as if she was going to protest, but resigned herself to a sigh and steeled her expression as they began limping towards the road. 

Getting Akhara up onto the horse took no small amount of strain, and he saw her bite her lip to stop from crying out as she moved in a way that would surely aggravate her wound. 

He saddled up behind her and grabbed the reins, trying not to let his arms touch her sides as the horse began the slow walk towards Winterhold. 

Progress was slow. Painstakingly. 

The road seemed deserted in the early hours of the morning. The wind howling against them, more than once Akhara grunted as the wind threatened to push her off while she held her arms around her midsection, trying to cover the wound as best she could. He could see her shoulders tense up everytime the wind got particularly strong. 

The top of the college disappeared as they went down a hill. Akhara started shivering. Eventually he gave up and leaned forward, tapping her shoulder with one hand and gesturing for her to lean back so he could shift his fur cloak around the both of them. She fixed him with a defiant stare, hood and scarf obscuring everything but her eyes, before leaning back into the added warmth. 

She was surprisingly warm to the touch. He could feel the heat radiating off her back, faint as it was, in the current snow storm it was not unappreciated. He wondered if it had to do with the fact that she sometimes turned into a werewolf. He didn't say so out loud. 

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As they crested another hill, the large stone gate of winterhold came into view. The stone structure of the college looming in the distance. There were mages there. Surely one of them could help, they had to have restoration mages. 

The broken stone wall and archway to the town was unguarded. Rumarin urged the horse past it, heading for the inn.

“I'd say hooray we made it to Winterhold, but well, it's Winterhold,” he said as he slid off the horse. 

Akhara sat on top, her face a grimace as she shook from a combination of the cold and pain. She looked at the ground from her spot atop the horse and he saw the apprehension in her face.

“Swing your legs over the other side, and lean back, I'll catch you.” 

Akhara just glared at him, hugging her side tighter. 

“I swear on my own need for self preservation, I will not drop you.” 

Her shoulders deflated a bit. But she swung her other leg over the side, and leaned into him as he helped her slide off the horse. Making sure not to put too much pressure on her side or shoulder as her feet slid to the ground. 

The door to the nearby inn swung open, briefly revealing the warmly lit interior, as a nord man who looked to be a guard came out. He eyed both of them, taking in their windblown state and Akhara half limping. “You two look pretty done in.”

“We need a healer, or potions,” Rumarin explained. Hoping Akhara’s antalgic stance was enough of an explanation. 

The guard grunted. “They’ll have ‘em up at the college. But we don’t deal with them here.” 

The town was nearly deserted as they ambled through the building snow on the road, heading for the college. He noticed she favored her left leg in the cold. The one she'd broken not too long ago. 

The long bridge suspended in the air came into view as they passed the last of the buildings that were still standing. The stone archway that led to the bridge stood alone on the edge of the cliff. A single woman who looked to be a mage stood in the shadow of it. Watching as they approached. He felt Akhara stiffen as they neared the arch. 

The altmer woman moved as they walked up the stone ramp to the arch, standing directly in the center, blocking them from going further. 

“Why do you approach the College?” The high elf woman seemed to notice Rumarin’s robes. “Ah, are you new students?”

“No. I need-” Akhara was interrupted by a groan as she clutched her side, the weight of her pulling down on Rumarin’s shoulders. 

“Please, she needs a healer." Rumarin gestured to her side with his free hand. 

The wind howled over the bridge as the altmer woman gazed over both of them. He did not like the look in her eyes either. Suspicion. No doubt wondering why he, a high elf, hadn't healed her himself. 

“Very well,” the woman cocked her head to the side, looking at both of them.

A distant roar reached his ears. Rumarin flinched. 

Even through the sounds of the wind, it was unmistakable. 

“What in aetherius!” the mage next to them gasped.

A dragon.

“Lorkhan’s ass,” Akhara swore under her breath. Sweat beading on her forehead. 

He glanced at Akhara, doubled over next to him. She was in no shape to fight. He couldn’t take down a dragon on his own. He wasn’t even sure the guards here would be able to handle this.

“I feel like we should run," he said. 

The dragon flew closer. It's dark wings casting a long shadow over the ground as it swooped low over the town. It roared. The air crackled with electricity. The hair on the back of his neck on end. And all he could do was watch as it flew closer. 

Shouts began to erupt from the town. Guards appeared out of several buildings, drawing weapons.

“To where?” Akhara yelled over the noise.

“Not an option I suppose?” Rumarin summoned his bow. The altmer woman beside him raised an eyebrow at the glowing blue bow he now held. He gave her a noncommittal shrug in return. 

Rumarin turned and ran back down the steps of the bridge to the college to take cover under one of the house's eaves. Leaving Akhara under the archway of the bridge. 

From his position he could see the dragon perched on the wall of the town. Sparks flying about its mouth as it breathed it. Its throat glowing brighter as it made a guttural sound. 

Arrow after arrow fired at it. None of them seemed to have much of an affect. 

Screams erupted as the dragon let loose a ball of electricity. A cart in the street was reduced to cinders. More screams came as it lifted its great wings. And its shadow flew over the town. 

This dragon was massive. Larger than the one they’d seen in Dragon Bridge. Rumarin watched as it hovered just above a building, giant wings blowing down gusts strong enough to knock several townspeople over. 

Stepping out from the cover of the door again, he fired at the cracks in its throat. Until it trained its great fiery eyes on him. 

His feet were frozen. He couldn't move. Not even back under the awning of the door. And if he could it wouldn't matter. 

The smell of burnt sulfur assaulted his nose. He briefly wondered if Otero would be proud or disappointed he’d died fighting a dragon. 

He swore he saw it smile before opening its jaws. Sparks crackling around its teeth.

Rumarin screwed his eyes shut. 

Thunder echoed through the town then. Only much louder. His knee’s slammed into the cold ground. Wind knocking him over. Causing him to open his eyes. The burning heat he'd expected never came. His bow dissipating as he caught himself on his palms.

He opened his eyes. Snow swirled around, so thick it obscured everything else. 

And it was quiet. 

Turning his head, expecting to see the shadow of the dragon. But there was nothing. He began to see shadows of several people standing up as the snow settled. 

A few murmurs came from through the snow. Rumarin stood up in a daze, one hand leaning against a post of wood for support. 

The dragon was gone. 

He took a step out into the street. But his foot missed a step. The ground was… all wrong. He looked down to see large grooves and scrapes in the road. Following it with his eyes, he could see through the settling clouds of snow and dirt. 

The tail of the dragon lay in the road. He blinked and the large shape nearly fifty paces in front of him came into focus. The dragon lay in a heap on top of a broken building. Broken wood shattered all around. 

Even from his distance he could see a jagged splintered piece of wood protruding from its neck. Its giant leathery wings completely still. 

His shoulders felt heavy. Expecting figures in robes from the direction the force had come from. Was it the mages? Had they come down to help? Head still buzzing, he turned. 

Instead the streets were dark. No magic lights lit the way. Guards stood, some helping people up who had been knocked down by the wind. Along with the one mage woman they'd spoken to. 

His eyes traveled to where everyone was staring. To where it had come from. To the stone archway of the bridge to the college. It was empty, except for Akhara, standing with one arm against the stone wall, the other desperately grabbing her side. 

He looked from where she stood down the clear path to where the dragon lay, and back. 

Had she- 

All of his thoughts came to a halt as she slid down the wall, sinking to the ground. 

He moved back to where she was. The mage woman reached her first, putting a hand to her head, then checking her pulse. “She's alive.”

Rumarin couldn't make his mouth form words. It wasn't Ulfric. It was _ her _. 

Her eyes cracked open as she regained consciousness. She had shouted. And Rumarin was fairly certain she wasn’t trained to shout. She wasn't even a nord. 

Between himself and the mage, they managed to half carry Akhara across the bridge while she drifted in and out of consciousness. As they neared the College, he saw faces peering out from behind a large iron gate. No doubt wondering about the dragon. 

The gate swung open as they approached. When they entered, the altmer woman, who’d introduced herself as Faralda, began barking orders at the other mages. She led him towards a door off the right. Rumarin felt the familiar feeling of magicka wash over him as they entered a large room with giant magika well pouring up from the floor. At least it was _ warm _. 

Faralda opened a door to a smaller room off to the side, revealing a single bed. As they moved Akhara down onto it, who was mumbling some sort of draconic nonsense in her half conscious state, two other people came rushing in, one looked like a student Faralda had barked at earlier, and the other was an elderly looking breton in yellow robes who promptly demanded what to know what had happened and who this woman was and why was she so important. 

Rumarin simply stood next to the bed opening and closing his mouth while Faralda briefly informed the healer, apparently Collette, that this woman had just saved the town from a dragon and needed healing. At that point Faralda had turned back to look at Rumarin with a strange expression on her face. When she asked just how had Akhara been injured when they’d first arrived, before the dragon. And he had glumly explained she’d been stabbed, and shot. All three mages in the room had raised their eyebrows at that. 

Collette then shooed all of them out. Rumarin watched the veins in her arms began to glow with a soft yellow light as he followed Faralda and the other student. The door closed behind him. 

He stood in the middle of the room with the magika well. Not wanting to follow Faralda or this other mage much further. His legs felt like lead, all the adrenaline from the dragon fight catching up with him, Rumarin wanted nothing more than to collapse against the cool stone and sleep. 

“I’ll have Mhanon show you where you may spend the night,” Faralda gestured to the man next to her. 

Mhanon turned out to be the slight redguard mage who’d brought Colette. He didn't look like he could withstand a gust of wind, let alone cast one in Rumarin’s opinion. Rumarin wasn't very good with ages but this student looked young. His dark hair pulled back into braids. 

“I'm Mhanon,” said the mage, touching his forehead in greeting, “pleased to meet you!” 

“Rumarin,” was all he’d said, not bothering to return the man’s pleasant smile. 

He was shown to a room literally, across the way on the other side of the magika well, that looked like it was also partially used as an alchemy closet. Mhanon had ducked out, saying to find him or any of the other mages if he needed anything, and left Rumarin alone on the bed. What he needed was a bath, and food, and also probably to write a letter. But no, what he really needed was for Akhara to kick open the door and state they were leaving this gods forsaken tundra behind for someplace warmer, and with less dragons. And less mages. 

Instead of laying down on the bed, which had a suspicious looking stain on it, he went back across the hall to the room Colette was no doubt trying to reheal Akhara’s side in, and sank down onto the floor next to it. Resting the back of his head against the cool stone wall. But his thoughts wouldn't sit still. 

The dragonborn. Did the Thalmor know? Did they not? Would they pay for that information? Would they even reward him? Or slap him in irons for travelling with her. Plus he still didn't know where the dragons were coming from. Only that Akhara well… killed some and could shout. And had some very peculiar side effects upon said killing. 

He had come to Skyrim to avoid Thalmor. Under the premise of finding more information about the dragons. So he'd gone to Windhelm and pretended to investigate. Though he was almost certain the Thalmor knew he was avoiding them. Not like they cared. Sure, Ulfric seemed a likely candidate. People are calling him dragonborn. That was good enough for him. 

He hadn't expected to actually run into the dragonborn. Or that they would be… 

"Restoration a valid school of magic, worthy of study, wouldn't you agree?" Collette’s angry voice interrupted his thoughts. 

"Err, yes?" 

"Good, good. Not that I require validation, of course. There are just some - and I shan't name names - who would disagree. It can make life difficult when one's colleagues fail to recognize the research one engages in." Collette marched off without so much as a hint as to how Akhara was. 

Pushing himself off the floor he walked into the room. Rumarin stared at Akhara’s sleeping form. Her breathing was slow and steady now. He sank into the only chair in the room, leaning his head back against the wall and picked up an apple sitting on the nearby table, tossing it absentmindedly. 

“So you're the dragonborn,” he said to Akhara’s still form. “I'm a little miffed, you know, this is exactly the kind of thing you mention when someone agrees to travel with you.” He paused, still juggling the apple. “Not that I’ll hold it against you for very long, I mean, you did save my life, multiple times if I’m being perfectly honest.” 

The bed rustled as she shifted and mumbled something. 

“I just think, in the future, if there’s any Nirn shattering secrets that might land me in the face of mortal peril, you might consider- you’re awake!” he let the apple fall and moved closer to where Akhara was pushing herself up onto her elbow. 

“How long?” her voice came out tired and harsh. He reached for the water and handed it to her. 

“Just an hour or so.” He watched as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“So, you know?” 

“Well, I admit it was rather hard to piece together, especially once you started shouting,” 

Akhara sat up. “Thanks for…” she made a gesture in the air with her hand, searching for words. “For coming to Snowveil.”

“Oh, er… no problem. Besides I imagine you would have done the same if someone led me to a ruin and left me for dead.” The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Rumarin was trying to find interesting things to look at around the room. 

“How did you even know?” 

“Well…” Rumarin wondered how to tell her he’d seen Mercer waltzing around Windhelm with Mehrune's Razor. “I just thought it was odd that you hadn’t returned. I mean, not that I expected you to come right back to Windhelm because you missed my company, but I figured I would have at least seen you pass by on the road. You know, because all I do there is sit outside Ulundil’s and watch people walk by.” He rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly. 

“You saw Mercer didn't you,” she said in a knowing voice. 

“Yep,” he admitted. He looked over at her. She gave him a half crooked smile. “Okay, I have a question for you. How did you find out you're…” 

“Dragonborn?” she supplied. 

“Yes.” 

“I didn't. Not really. There was a dragon at Helgen. Ulfric shouted at it, I honestly thought it was him. Then-" she sighed and rubbed at her head- "there was a dragon near Whiterun, we killed it and… something… happened. I don't know. I could shout, and hear voices-”

“Wait, _ hear voices _?” Rumarin raised an eyebrow. “Like the kind of voices that tell you to kill people or the kind that tells you ‘hey, you should get a second serving of dinner, you deserve it’.” 

Akhara rolled her eyes. “No, it's not like either of those. I don't know. It's… It doesn't matter. I never sought out Ulfric or the Greybeards, no one who could tell me for sure. Maybe I’m not, maybe I’m just mad.” 

"So you're _ supposedly _ dragonborn, maybe, and you've just been… wandering around Skyrim, avoiding dragons?"

"Is that mad?" She asked.

"I don't know. What kind of sane person goes looking for dragons?"

“I don't want to be dragonborn, I don't want to get involved in this stupid civil war, or whatever else. It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

“So avoid the question so you don't have to deal with the answer?” 

“You know, sometimes I like the things that come out of your mouth,” she said. “Besides I’m already not on friendly terms with the Thalmor, I can't imagine what they'd do if they found out a dragonborn was just thieving her way around the province.” 

Rumarin didn't have the heart to disagree. She was not wrong. Unfortunately. They would find out, eventually. They always did. 

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get the next few chapters out 🤗 Hope you're all well. Also who wants to yell with me about the dragon age 4 dev diaries!


	9. Into the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumarin agrees to help a cute mage with an expedition. It goes about as well as you would expect.

.***.

Into the Snow

.***.

.

.

.

_ Rumarin _

It had been a confusing night, to say the least. Rumarin had ended up sleeping in some mages’ spare room, down the hall from where Akhara slept. But despite the exhaustion, he hadn't gotten much sleep. There were no windows in the small room. So he’d been forced to wait until what he thought was an appropriate amount of time and came out of the room, only to discover most of the other occupants' doors were still closed. The world quiet. He seemed to be the only one awake. 

That was, until he heard a thunk from the next room over. 

Rumarin walked in to find Akhara pulling on her boots, albeit a bit wobbly. “Umm, where do you think you're going?” 

Akhara’s head shot up at the sound of his voice. Her stare held every bit of accusation he'd expected, with a little bit of guilt too. “I need to find Enthir and track down Mercer, and get to Whiterun.” Her breathing was still heavy. 

“Or," Rumarin interrupted, “you need to rest because that poison isn't completely out of your system and I am _ not _carrying you again. My back still hurts,” he added.

Akhara glared at him from under her eyelashes. 

“Don't act like you don't know it either,” he said. “Tell you what, if you can land a single hit on me, we'll go. Otherwise, we stay and rest. I'm sure this Enthir will still be here in the morning.” 

Akhara’s gaze was hard as she chewed on the inside of her lip, but instead of getting up she deflated and sank back onto the mattress. Boots and all. 

His eyebrows went up a little in surprise. He'd honestly expected a fight. “Should I get Collette? You never agree with anything I say. You aren't dying are you?" He half joked. 

Her lazy hand waved him out the door, before turning into a rude symbol as he left to go find food. 

.

.

.

By the time he'd walked back with breakfast, Akhara was still asleep. He wasn't sure how difficult it was to shout like that. Maybe even Tiber Septim had needed days to recover? Or it was a combination of the shouting and the fact she’d been poisoned and stabbed. But, she had saved him from the dragon. He guessed she could have easily let the dragon eat him first before saving the town. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty for the Alik'r thing. 

He kicked the door to her room, trying to make enough noise to wake her up while holding one plate and balancing the other on his forearm. Only he wasn't expecting her arm to jolt up, dagger in hand narrowly missing the edge of the plate he held. 

There was a split second where she froze. Realizing where she was before her shoulders relaxed. One hand coming up to brush the dark curls out of her face as she looked at him with bleary eyes. 

"Well, I'm never waking you up again," he said, and gestured to the plates he was holding. “I brought breakfast.” 

Akhara sat up, leaning on one elbow on the bed, eyeing the food. “Is it poisoned?” 

“What kind of question is that?” Rumarin said with a mouthful. It took him two seconds too long to realize that was her idea of a _ joke _. 

There was a knock on the side of the open door. The same short redguard from the day before stood there. “Faralda wanted me to check on you. Is there anything else you need?” 

“We're looking for someone named Enthir.” Akhara made to get up, ignoring the food entirely. Rumarin gave her a pointed glare, that she pretended not to see. This was probably the best meal they would get for days! Even if it was just eggs and some odd looking vegetable he couldn't name. 

“Oh,” the mages eyebrows went up. “Yes, he's one of the researchers. I can take you to him!”

The mage, Rumarin remembered his name was Mhanon, waited patiently for Akhara to gather her boots and coat. He also hid a smile behind his hand as Rumarin made a show of eating as much of the food as he could before standing up to join them. 

Mhanon led them out, across the courtyard of the college to another hall that seemed to house more adept mages. There were sounds of angry muttering coming from one of the rooms. Mhanon led them to the closed door, and cast a sympathetic glance at both of them before knocking. 

“Yes, yes, what is it?” the voice came from a harried looking wood elf. His robes a little more lackluster. Dust and creases showing they hadn't been washed in days.

“Enthir,” Mhanon inclined his head slightly, “these two were looking for you.” 

“Karliah sent us,” Akhara said. 

Enthir's ears twitched at the sound of Karliah's name. “Karliah?” He looked up to the two of them standing on the other side of the table. “She's finally found it then. Come in. Thank you, Mhanon.” Enthir gestured for them to close the door.

Mhanon simply inclined his head again before backing out, giving them a small smile that seemed to be more _ good luck _ rather than _ you're welcome _. Rumarin pushed the door shut with a soft click. 

Lowering his voice, Enthir asked, “do you have Gallus' journal?”

“Yes,” Akhara pulled it from her pocket. “But there's a problem. It is in some language we've never seen. It's not Dunmeri, Yokudan or Aldmeri.”

“Let me see it!” Enthir’s long fingers reached out and gingerly took the book from Akhara. He began flipping through the pages. “This is just like Gallus. A dear friend, but too clever for his own good. He's written all of the text in Falmer language.”

“Falmer?” 

“In the time before man, they were known as the snow elves.” Enthir continued without looking up. “They lived in the sunlight and had a very prosperous society. But were driven underground and lived with the Dwarves.”

“Snow elf?” Akhara questioned. “So they were like your kind?” she glanced at him. 

“Like the Altmer? Yes, possibly.” Enthir walked over to the window, still flipping through the book, as if it's pages would tell him something. 

“Hmm,” Akhara pursed her lips. “Sounds like Ayleids.” 

“More like goblins but yes. Anyway I doubt you came here to discuss history.” 

“Right. Can you translate this?”

Enthir rubbed his chin. “No. However, I know someone who might. The court wizard of Markarth, Calcelmo, may have the materials you need. A word of warning, Calcelmo is a fierce guardian of his research. Getting the information won't be easy.” 

“Why would Gallus write his whole journal in Falmer?” Rumarin wondered out loud. 

“Besides the fact that there are only a handful of people in Tamriel even recognize the language? I'm fairly certain he was planning sort of a heist that involved a deep understanding of the Falmer. Sadly, we never had the opportunity to speak about the details.”

“So… where did he learn Falmer?”

"Ironically, I pointed him in the same direction I pointed you, to Markarth and Calcelmo. I'm only hoping whatever means he used to learn the language will still be available to you.” 

“Markarth,” Akhara said the name of the city like it was a bad tasting fruit. His thoughts were along the same. He didn't want to have to travel _ all the way _ to Markarth and back. 

“You know, why even bother translating Gallus’ journal,” Rumarin said. “It won't be in his writing. Wouldn't it make more sense to hire a forager? We show the guild the foraged writing, they believe us, and help us kill Mercer.” 

“You assume they’re going to believe us even_ if _ we get this bloody thing translated.” 

“Alright, don't say I didn't offer any other creative solutions. Ones that involved less walking.” 

Enthir watched the two of them with raised eyebrows. “When you get to Calcelmo I’d advise you to be… careful with your words when talking to him. He’s as stubborn as a mule.” 

Akhara nodded. 

“I don't think I caught your names,” Enthir said, regarding the two of them narrowed eyes. 

“Akhara.” 

“Rumarin.”

“So… Karliah roped the two of you into this too. I’d hoped someone at the guild would finally realize what Mercer’s done.” 

Rumarin made a sound and shrugged his shoulders, not really wanting to go into the whole convoluted tale of how he and Akhara had actually parted ways once she’d gone off with Mercer and he’d only followed because of some lingering guilt in the back of his head. 

Akhara shrugged. “Mercer tried to stab me in the back.” 

“Tried?” Rumarin scoffed. “He succeeded.” 

“I’m alive,” she argued, chin out and hands on her hips. Rumarin didn't add that when he’d arrived that had only been _ just barely _. 

“Right,” Enthir’s tone became dismissive. “I’ll be here when you return, hopefully with the means to translate Gallus’ journal.” 

.***.

“Have you ever seen a falmer before?” Akhara asked as they walked back to the courtyard.

“No, well,” he tapped a finger to his chin. “I’ve seen their caves and such but never gone inside. I like my eyes where they are. In my skull.” 

Akhara just stared at him like he was the least funny thing she'd seen all day. “What about Ayleid ruins?” she said. “You can hardly go anywhere in Cyrodiil without running into one of them. Technically, the White Gold tower is an Ayleid structure but no one thinks to count it.” 

“I had no idea you were a history nerd,” Rumarin smirked. “Did I ever tell you what my name means in the old Aldmeri?” 

Akhara shook her head.

“That’s because I have no idea.” He smiled at the look of disappointment on her face.

“You sure you weren’t named after lake Rumare?”

He stopped. “That’s… actually a good point, and completely plausible, given my parents used to tell me the story of how my mother gave birth to me on a boat headed from Bravil to the Imperial City.” 

“Ah, I was hoping to find you,” came another voice. Rumarin turned around and recognized Mhanon, the mage from earlier. Another man tailing behind him, who’s head kept whipping about. Hands were furiously wringing something he couldn't see. 

“Faralda said to let you know you’re guests of the College,” Mhanon said, “and things have been cleared with Mirabelle and the Arch mage for the time being. Also…” Mhanon inclined his head to the person beside him, who Rumarin could now see was a dark elf. One who didn't look the least bit like a mage, and more like someone who spent their days drinking in a tavern. 

The dunmer cleared his throat. “I have a message from Jarl Korir. It's about the dragon.” He held out a piece of folded parchment. 

Rumarin glanced at Akhara when she didn't reach out to take the letter. Judging by the furrow in her brow she was thinking of ways to possibly get out of this conversation. 

“Who is the message for?” she asked. 

“Well…. You,” the dark elf frowned at Akhara, confusion evident in his voice. 

Akhara swore under her breath and took the letter. 

“Look it’s none of my business,” the dark elf said, “but the Jarl said he wants to celebrate the slaying of the dragon. He didn't actually see what happened. The fat mudcrab was asleep.” He sneered. “He also said that if the mages were holding the dragon slayer here against your will, that he would summon stormcloaks and storm the gates. So he sent me, just to make sure.”

Mhanon wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes at the Jarls threat. Rumarin got the sense that even the messenger wasn't exactly keen on the Jarl. 

Akhara opened her mouth as if she were about to make some scathing remark before closing her eyes and rubbing her temple. “I’ll… talk to the Jarl then. Sure. Fine. Tell him I’ll be there.” 

The dunmer inclined his head in a bow before leaving. Rumarin noticed Mhanon didn’t stop watching the man until he was out on the bridge, and the iron gate to the college was closed behind him. 

“Right," Rumarin said, "I can see why you haven’t exactly been advertising the whole shouting thing."

Akhara huffed and turned to Mhanon. “Do you mind showing us the library?”

“Of course!” Mhanon’s face brightened immediately. It didn't escape Rumarin’s notice how visibly excited Mhanon was at the mention of the library. 

“Mister Urag keeps quite an extensive selection. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Mhanon led them to the great hall and up more winding stairs. 

“Things on the falmer,” Akhara said. 

_ Things on the falmer. _ Rumarin wrinkled his nose. _ Not like she should be looking into things about dragons, or shouts, or voices. _ Then again, maybe it was fine. Maybe there was another dragonborn out there who was doing their job. 

They looked around for several minutes for anything about the Falmer. When Rumarin noticed a section of the library that was gated off. And Akhara looking at the bars as if wondering how much force it would take to get in. 

“What’s this?” Akhara said to Mhanon. 

“Oh, that’s the forbidden section of the library. Only available to Erudites and above-” 

“What if there’s useful information there.” 

“About the falmer?” Mhanon said, his tone clearly indicating he didn't think text on the falmer was important enough to be locked away. 

Akhara shrugged, looking back over to where the master librarian sat. The old orc did not even look up from his tome before uttering a gruff “No.”

Akhara opened her mouth to argue when another voice came up behind the three of them. 

“If you're going to study here, I’ll need you to pass a small test in order to prove your aptitude with magic.” Faralda stood there, looking from Rumarin to Akhara, and then to Mhanon with something akin to disappointment. 

“We’re not here to study,” Akhara started. 

“No? Then you won't need access to the restricted section of the arcanaeum then.” 

Akhara glared at the woman for a long moment. Rumarin looked back and forth between them, frowning. the familiar feeling of dread creeping into his stomach. He had to admit he didn’t want to “pass a test” either. 

“Fine,” Akhara said. “I suppose you wouldn't have anything relevant anyway.” 

Rumarin watched as Akhara ran her tongue over her teeth and how her eyes kept glancing back at the gated off area. He didn't think he’d ever seen someone flat out tell her no before. He also knew that if they had, she wouldn't listen. 

.

.

.

.***.

The Jarl of Winterhold, was a surly redheaded nord who sat on a throne covered in furs before a long table that was laden with food. Smoke and haze filled the hall as they entered. The smell of cooked meat set his mouth watering. 

He had been wrong earlier. That breakfast wasn't the best meal they would have this week. Somehow the people of Winterhold had managed to put together enough food to fill the long table. They were introduced to the Jarl, who had given Rumarin an icy stare at the sight of his mage robes. It was a bit unusual being hailed as 'one of the adventures who slayed the dragon', but he wasn't about to correct anyone right before they were supposed to sit down for a free meal. 

"After I finish this, I'm going to sleep for a week," he said. 

"Better not, unless you want to be stuck here with the mages." 

Rumarin's spoon nearly missed his mouth when he heard Akhara reply. He swallowed. Unsure if she was playing along. 

"Can't an elf indulge for once?" 

"Don't pretend you haven't been having fun," she said sarcastically. The corners of her mouth turning up into a smirk. 

Okay, once was a coincidence but twice? He just stared at her from across the table. "Everytime I'm about to have fun, you find a way to ruin it." 

"Did you hear," another voice interrupted, "that strange temple in the mountains, the one that popped up after the dragons were sighted. They say it's gone."

Another nord man at the table nodded. "Aye. the people who had been enraptured by it seemed to be freed once the dragon was killed."

"Heard Ranmir finally came home. It's a damn shame though-"

Akhara gave a small shrug, as if to say _ sorry withershins was interrupted by these obtuse nords. _ And Rumarin made a face and rolled his eyes. She covered her laugh with a cough and took a drink. 

The talk at the table seemed mostly positive that the dragon was gone. Apparently it had flown close to town before, eaten a few goats, but never attacked. Of course Rumarin also heard several remarks about how suspicious it was that the college hadn't helped. Nevermind that two of the mages near the bridge had helped fight the thing. But he didn't complain. Much. Because eventually after the meal, and several boring speeches, the Jarl asked to speak with Akhara privately. When they came back, Akhara couldn't leave fast enough. And he wasn't done with dessert! And _ then _ he complained. 

After practically bowing their way out of the Jarl’s longhouse -it seemed like every single person had something to say to Akhara- they stepped out into the street. The night air was calm when they stepped out. Cold enough to make his chest hurt with that first breath. His face still warm from the mead. All the noise from the party seemed to be left inside once the door closed behind them. 

Divines know he hated silence. 

"So…" Rumarin dragged the word out as they walked through the street, “what did the Jarl want?”

“Ugh, to further his stormcloak agenda.” Akhara kicked at some snow as they walked. “He asked if I was the dragonborn.” 

“And?” 

“I told him I learned to shout from Ulfric. I _ can’t be _ the dragonborn,” her smile revealing pointed canines. "Besides he seemed to like the idea that it's Ulfric, instead of… me."

“He does seem a bit thick,” Rumarin said, “but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who dislikes mages more than me, so he can’t be a complete idiot.” 

“Does that make _ you _ thick?” 

“Why, because I don't like mages? No, that makes me sensible.” 

“Maybe from a thick nord’s perspective,” she said, as they walked along the narrow bridge to the college. 

“Wow, still so rude. Even after I saved your life.”

“You didn't do anything. Karliah did.” 

“And you think you could have made it to Winterhold by yourself then?” 

Akhara huffed. “I'm going to bed.” 

“Really? It's still so early.” He looked around the courtyard. “I'm going to wander around a bit.” 

“Try not to get lost,” was all she said before heading to her room. 

He frowned as she walked away. For how much she’d slept it was odd, she didn't seem… well, _ rested _. He figured it probably wasn't a big deal. It had only been a day since Snowveil. He wandered through the great hall before deciding to see where the lower stairs led. There had to be a greenhouse of some sorts here. Where else would they get all the plants needed for potions. 

Rumarin’s feet came to a stop as he bumped into someone. Halfway through apologizing he recognized the familiar black robes with hints of gold. Rumarin froze. 

There were Thalmor. _ Here _?

“Ah,” the altmer man backed up, straightening his robes before regarding Rumarin with a stare that chilled his bones. “I don't think we've met.” 

Rumarin waited, hoping he would lose interest and walk off. 

“Ancano. Advisor to the Arch Mage on behalf of the Thalmor.” He tilted his head, regarding him. “I understand there was a bit of commotion in Winterhold when the dragon appeared,” Ancano said, leaning closer. 

Rumarin wrinkled his nose at the smell of onions. “Well dragons tend to do that, cause… commotion.” 

“Indeed. I’m also aware you were one of two who had just arrived in town when the dragon attacked, yes?” 

“I thought we _ hadn’t _ met?”

“Word travels.” Ancano said in clipped tones. “You know I’ve done some inquiring on the Thalmor’s many operatives this side of Skyrim. Particularly the ones investigating the dragons. They’re _ supposed _to be in Windhelm.”

“Maybe they are.”

“There you are!” Rumarin and Ancano turned to see Mhanon walking through the courtyard towards them. 

“I can see you’re… busy. Another time,” Ancano waved a lazy hand at them as Mhanon came over. 

Rumarin tried to hide his surprise when Mhanon reached his side and promptly locked arms with him and led Rumarin away towards the hall where the beds were. 

“Bloody Thalmor,” Mhanon muttered. 

Rumarin cleared his throat, looking down at the redguard. “Er… thanks, I think.”

“Sorry about that. I couldn't think of a better way to get rid of him. You looked uncomfortable.”

“Oh, that's just my face.” 

Mhanon gave a small laugh. “You know, some of us are going to the excavation at Saarthal tomorrow. If you wanted to come, I’m sure Tolfdir wouldn't mind. We could hire you! We might encounter draugr and traps. It wouldn't hurt to have some adventurers who’re familiar with those. You… are familiar with those?”

“Oh. Yes, draugr and traps and nordic ruins seem to be our specialty. I'll um, bring it up to Akhara.”

“Great!” Mhanon said. 

“Tomorrow,” he added. Not wanting to have to deal with waking her up again. Or the knives that came with it. 

.***.

.

.

.

Rumarin awoke a gloved hand pressing over his mouth and Akhara standing over him with a finger pressed to her lips. He shoved her hand off his mouth and scrambled out the bed, giving her a quizzical look. She motioned for him to follow her outside. Pulling on his robes with a bit too much irritation, he huffed and followed her outside.

Once out in the cold Akhara pulled up her hood and began making her way around the courtyard to the main hall. 

“I want to know what they’re hiding in that library.” 

He wasn't surprised, but surprised enough that she'd told him. It's not like she needed his help with this. Some part of him hoped she was simply trusting him with this, after what happened in Snow Veil with Mercer...

“Right. How do you plan to get in? You saw that lock, not that I doubt your thieving abilities but there’s no-” she cut him off as she held up a key between two gloved fingers -“How did you get that?”

“The illusion master.” 

“I-" Rumarin blinked, momentarily unsure what to say. "... are you sure that was wise? He’s an illusionist, for all you know he could be a land dreugh, or worse, ugly.” 

Akhara rolled her eyes as they made their way up the stairs to the arcanaeum. 

Once inside they made their way up the small up stairs that led to the upper level and towards the locked gate. She knelt in front of it, inserting the key. It opened with a click.

Rumarin let out a small whistle. “You would think they’d have a magical lock, given where we are.” 

“If it was magical the other students could probably bypass it. You ever met a mage who can pick locks?” she added. 

Rumarin held his tongue. Every “mage” he’d met that could pick locks was usually a thief first, and a magic user second. 

.

.

.

Quietly, the two of them stepped through the restricted section. Rumarin’s eyes quickly scanning the shelves for anything that looked like it would mention the falmer. Most of the tomes seemed to be related to things that he guessed the college didn't want novices practicing. There were a lot of books pertaining to conjuration, and necromancy, he noticed. Some conjuration books seemed to be meshed in with books about the dwemer. Finally his eyes swept across a faded brown book spine, titled _ The Falmer: A Study. _ Rumarin’s fingers wrapped around the book, pulling it from the shelf. 

He looked over his shoulder to find Akhara was holding her breath as she bent over to lift up a lid of a glass case. He frowned. He should have known she wasn't just interested in books. She was looking for something else. 

He cleared his throat, causing her to glance up as he held up the book. She nodded once and turned back to the case before her. Rumarin walked over, looking over her shoulder to see what looked like a small burnt page with writing, and a broken piece of an old amulet. Akhara held it up. “This looks useless.” 

“Yeah?” Rumarin shrugged, not sure why this was surprising.

“So why is it here?” 

“You’re asking me? About the place that also has books on mudcrabs? It's mages. They have a thing for keeping worthless junk around.” 

Akhara sighed and leaned over to pick up the burnt paper. “Does this look… familiar to you?”

“Other than I’m pretty sure that's the daedric symbol for Oblivion?” he hissed. “No.” 

Akhara continued to stare at it. Rumarin watched her warily. His knowledge of daedric writing was limited but he was almost a hundred percent certain that it wasn’t supposed to glow. 

The lid made a sharp _ click _ as Akhara closed it, pursing her lips. 

Rumarin waggled the book he’d found once again. “Anything else? Or do you want to see if they have some jewelry we could steal too?” 

Akhara ignored him, instead going over to peruse the shelves for a moment before grabbing a tome about the dwemer before making to leave. Rumarin held back a sigh as they left the library.

.***.

.

.

.

“This is useless.” Akhara tossed the book about the dwemer onto the bed from where she sat. “We should head to Markarth. We can grab Inigo from Whiterun on the way.” The two of them had been reading through the books they’d _ borrowed _, and Rumarin was trying to think of a way to mention the expedition without her getting suspicious. 

“You're in no shape to go trekking off to Markarth at the moment.” Rumarin snapped the book he’d been reading shut, glad for an excuse to stop. Not that he’d really been reading, more like skimming every fifth word and learning there supposedly a large system of caves called Blackreach under the province. “We should stay here for another day,” he said, thinking of Mhanon and the expedition he’d invited him on. There was also the fact that Akhara still favoured her leg, and with the amount of healing she received from Colette, there was no way she was back to normal. “Besides, a college seems like the last place we'd run into any thieves guild members,” he added, hinting at how he would really rather avoid Mercer at all costs right now. 

“_ I'm _ a thieves guild member.” 

“Probably not for much longer if Mercer made it back to Riften by now.” 

At that she scowled, no doubt picturing Mercer back at the guild. "Then I need to find a way to get word to Inigo."

Rumarin sank back into his chair. “Well I’m sure they have courier pigeons or something.” 

Akhara rolled her eyes and stepped out of the room. Rumarin stared at the pages of the book in silence, not bothering to read them. There was a soft knock on the open door. He looked up to see Mhanon standing there, dressed in typical blue robes. The gold thread that was laced through his dark hair matching the gold stitching perfectly. 

“Mirabelle agreed to pay you for helping with the expedition,” Mhanon smiled. “Mostly if you act as bodyguards in case we encounter any draugr.” 

“Oh,” Rumarin let the book fall onto his lap. “That sounds good to me. Does this include a meal? I’m not against fighting draugr, I just prefer not to do so on an empty stomach.” 

Mhanon laughed as he turned to leave. “I’m sure Mirabelle wouldn't mind if you ate with the rest of us. We’re leaving for the excavation in an hour.”

Rumarin jumped as someone started talking behind him. “So, I see why you wanted to stay another day.” Akhara was leaning against the door.

“Would it kill you to not sneak up on me using invisibility?” he said. “Besides, I agreed to help. Plus I'm hoping I can make off with some random artifacts no one will miss. And sell them.” 

“So we help kill any draugr the mages encounter and get easy gold?” 

Rumarin shrugged. “I figured we’re going to need coin to hire another horse to make it to Markarth. Not to mention I think we could capitalize on your killing that dragon, tell the Jarl you charge a hundred gold per shout, to help save the world from dragons.” He nodded solemnly. “And by the world, I mean us.” 

.***.

Saarthal turned out to be some other nord tomb. One of the mages, and the only nord, seemed to be reluctant to be part of the whole thing. Saying how ‘the ancestors deserved to rest’, and other stuff. Rumarin didn't pay much attention to him. 

Akhara had walked off and was talking to another mage. Rumarin meandered around and picked over a few rocks nearby. Close enough that he heard some of their conversation. Something about dwemer research. And needing something from Enthir. 

He wandered into another area, where Mhanon was studying the walls, his fingers gently tracing some old carvings. Mhanon reached up, and pulled something off the wall. There was a grinding sound and a clang. Rumarin spun around to find iron bars locking them into the small chamber 

Toldfir and Akhara and some of the other mages came into view, wondering what the sound was. 

“What in the blazes was that,” Tolfdir came up to the bars, taking in the sight of Rumarin and Mhanon trapped inside, while Mhanon still held onto a broken amulet. “Is everything alright?” 

“We’re trapped,” Rumarin said, letting cheery sarcasm coat his words. 

“I pulled this amulet off the wall-” Mhanon started. 

“Is there some way you can use it? Does it appear to be enchanted?” Tolfdir asked. 

Mhanon held the amulet up closer and studied it, before slipping it over his head. 

Rumarin blinked. Nothing seemed to change. 

Akhara tapped the rock next to the bars with her knuckles, raising an eyebrow with an expression that said _ or we could just knock down this dirt wall _. Rumarin frowned and shook his head at her. 

“Do you see that?” Tolfdir said. “Some kind of resonance, between you and the wall. I wonder... what effect might your spells have?"

Rumarin turned to look at the wall, which honestly looked no different to him. But he could see Mhanon staring at it as though it was offering him a sweetroll. Mhanon stepped up to the wall of carvings, and placed his hand flat on the surface, before letting it erupt in flame. The small redguard jumped back as the wall crumbled before him, leaving behind dust and a dark tunnel. The iron bars sank back into the ground. 

“Well would you look at that,” Tolfdir stepped past them and stuck his head inside the tunnel. “This appears to lead somewhere. Let’s see where it goes.” 

“Should we alert someone?” Mhanon said. 

Akhara looked back at the other mages watching, and pulled a torch off a nearby wall. “I think they’ve been alerted.” 

“We’ll be back,” Tolfdir called out to the other students before disappearing into the tunnel. 

Rumarin rolled his eyes as Akhara handed him another torch. “Come on, graverobber. We’ve got mages to protect.” 

He huffed and followed. Trying to keep up with the excited pace of Tolfdir and Mhanon. 

"Well, this is highly unusual. And very interesting.” Tolfdir came to a stop as the tunnel led to a small chamber, with some sort of platform at the center, and three sarcophagi lined the walls. “Why in the world would this be sealed off? What is this place?” 

“They could have done-"

Rumarin stepped into the chamber last. For a moment, he thought everything flickered. The flame on the torch was… wrong. And then it was right again. 

“I… I swear I felt something strange just then.” 

Rumarin hated to agree. But nord burial ruins were bad enough already with the draugr and traps. He wasn't sure they needed strange magic phenomena to be added to that list. 

“There was some sort of apparition. It spoke. Did none of you…?” Mhanon looked around at the three of them, realization dawning that the rest of them had seen and heard nothing of the sort. 

“He said he was a member of the Psjic order, and warned about danger. Something about judgement and-” 

“The Psijic order.” Tolfdir rubbed his chin. “That’s very odd. And danger ahead? That doesn't make any sense at all.” 

“Right because danger is never found in nord ruins,” Akhara said. Rumarin suppressed a laugh.

“But the Psijics have no connection to these ruins,” Tolfidr said. “And no one’s seen or heard from any of their order in a long time.” 

“Why would they contact me?” Mhanon wondered aloud. 

“If nothing else, I’d take it as a compliment. The Psjics have only ever dealt with those they felt were worthy.” 

The next chamber the four of them came upon was round and lined with sarcophagi. There were a few draugr, that Akhara disposed of happily. He couldn't tell if she was letting out her anger from Yngvild, or Snowveil. Either way, the track record for nord ruins was not going in their favor. 

“If I never see another draugr again, I'll die happy,” Rumarin said after the last one was cut down. 

"Don't look up," came Mhanon’s voice. 

Rumarin couldn't help himself. Neither could Akhara or Tolfdir, apparently. Because they all craned their necks and looked up, where there should have been ceiling, there were just walls, covered by sarcophagi. Rows and rows of them as far into the dark as he could see. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Tolfdir said in awe. “This bears closer inspection. I’m going to stay awhile and examine this. You three should press on. Mhanon, see if you can find whatever danger this vision of yours mentioned.”

Rumarin caught Akhara’s eyes from across the chamber. “I’ll stay with the old man. You two go.” She jerked her head towards the door. 

“We’ll be sure to catch up with you!” Tolfdir called, not looking back as Rumarin followed Mhanon out of the chamber, and further into the ruin. 

.

.

.

It was quieter without the older wizard. The shadows from the small ball of light Mhanon cast danced as they walked through the dark halls. The silence seemed to grow the further they went. Rumarin found himself wondering just how old and big this ruin was. All those sarcophagi… he decided he’d rather not think about it. The silence was driving him mad. 

“Was it really wise to split up?” He spoke to Mhanon’s back, watching every corner they approached for signs of draugr. “Does Tolfdir care at all about the welfare of his students? Sure, we can handle ourselves, but still.” 

“He wouldn't have sent us ahead if he didn't think we were prepared. Besides,” Mhanon smiled back at him, “you were hired for protection.”

"Maybe. Though I’m beginning to think you didn't actually need us for protection. There's nothing I can do compared to a fireball.” 

Mhanon shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted a friendlier face than Onmund.” 

Rumarin let out a small laugh, thinking of the serious nord who’d been with the group when they entered, the only one who seemed to have a problem with the college’s excavation. 

“You don't seem to care for Ancano, or who he represents. I mean, not that I blame you. I'm not much of a fan either."

Mhanon let out a deep breath. “I wasn't always a mage here. I was a battlemage… a member of the Alik’r. My magic came in handy.” 

Rumarin blinked. Mhanon looked far too young to have been involved in the Great War. 

“I was captured, and taken by ship to Northwatch Keep. But I escaped. Ended up here."

"Northwatch keep… wow. Lucky you weren't there during that explosion there a few years ago."

Mhanon pursed his lips and slightly tilted his head. A knowing look on his face. 

“That was you?”

“Yeah,” Mhanon laughed nervously. 

There were footsteps behind them. Tolfdir and Akhara came into view around a corner. Tolfdir’s magelight hovering before them, though even partly in shadow Rumarin could see Akhara’s grip on her staff was not light. 

“I thought it high time we caught up with you. Have you found anything else interesting?” 

“A few writings,” Mhanon said, “this area appears to be mostly deserted…” 

“Let’s continue on then,” Tolfdir said, moving past them. Akhara brushed by, giving him a look as she followed the older wizard. As if it was his fault she was bored to tears. Which he supposed, maybe it was.

As they descended further into the ruin, a low hum reached his ears. There was a blue light dancing along the rough stone walls. And was that… wind?

“Well would you look at that,” the old mage said, “I never imagined we’d find something like this.” 

Rumarin was last into the room. He stopped at Mhanon’s side, staring. There was wind, or something like it. Blue and glowing and surrounding some kind of orb in the center of the chamber. 

“Why is this buried so far within Saarthal?” Tolfdir whispered. 

“The night of tears,” Mhanon said.

“The night of what?” Rumarin wasn't one for history, let alone ancient history of the nords. 

“When the elves sacked Saarthal,” Mhanon explained. “Ysgramor found it in ruins, and he returned with the five hundred companions and Ahzidal and ran the elves out of Skyrim.” 

“Ashy doll?” Rumarin asked. He’d heard of Ysgramor. Who hadn't in Skyrim. But this-

“He was a great enchanter who helped Ysgrammor forge weapons and armor to fight the elves. He learned of the seven natures of metal from the Dwemer and ancient runes and dawn magic from the Ayleids. He learned all that the Snow Elves, Chimer and Altmer knew, waiting for the chance to exact revenge.” 

Listening to Mhanon ramble he almost didn't notice Akhara moving closer to get a better look at the orb, suspicion written all over her features as she walked to the stairs that led down to it. 

“Please tell me that’s not him,” Akhara nodded down towards the edge. Rumarin moved forward too, craning his neck to see. A single draugr sat in a chair at the center of the room before the glowing orb. 

“I… don't think so,” Mhanon said, worry creeping into his voice. 

The draugr began to stand, uttering guttural words and pointing up at them. He didn't know what it said, but the intent was clear. 

Akhara swore, grip tightening on her quarterstaff. 

“Keep it distracted,” Tolfdir said as he rushed down the stairs, already casting. The old wizard seemed to glow as he approached the orb. 

Rumarin ran a hand over his face. “Killing draugr is your area of expertise,” he said to Akhara. 

Mhanon looked between the two of them with a frown as Akhara jumped down from the ledge to fight the draugr. Rumarin summoned his bow. 

The draugrs axe hit the stone as Akhara deflected it’s blow with her staff and used her other hand to strike it’s jaw. 

The dragur’s head snapped to the left from the blow. Before giving out a guttural snarl and twisting its neck back. 

“Nothing’s working,” Akhara growled, her quarterstaff holding the draugrs axe back as they both fought. 

“Can't you just shout at it!” Rumarin yelled, firing several arrows. 

“Not in here!” She jumped back. Narrowly avoiding the draugr’s axe. “Unless you want to end up under ten tons of nordic rubble!” 

He frowned as she put all her weight onto her right leg instead of the left. 

“Now!” cried Tolfdir, “do it now!” 

“Get out of the way!” He looked up to see Mhanon on top of the ledge, fire sparking between his fingers. 

Rumarin aimed. Shooting it in the leg. The draugr’s leg bent underneath it. And Rumarin ran for the stone table, desperate to put some distance between him and the impending explosion. 

He ducked his head down. Heat engulfed the room. The wave of it was enough to blow Akhara’s hair into her face as she crouched down beside him. And then it was still. 

Ears ringing, he stood up from behind the stone table. The draugr was on the floor. Unmoving.

He heard Akhara use some colourful swears regarding Akatosh and where the draugr could stuff himself as she pushed herself up using her staff. 

“Gaulderson,” Mhanon read an ancient scroll aloud. “This was one of the sons of the ancient Archmage Gauldur.”

“So was he here guarding this?” Akhara gestured to the giant orb before them. The orb that Tolfdir was still circling and muttering to himself. 

“No,” Mhanon shook his head. “I think he came here after…” he gestured to the orb, “this is the secret under Saarthal. This is what those ancient nords found that led the elves to attack them.”

“Great. Does this mean more elves are going to attack us?” Rumarin asked.

“Mhanon,” Tolfdir called, “you should inform Savos Aren right away. I don’t dare leave this unattended.” 

.

.

.

Once they got back to the main excavation area, it became a little easier to breathe. As if the air wasn’t quite so… heavy. Rumarin glanced around the broken pots and tools before spotting a familiar looking book. “You know, Tolfdir is right. The arch-mage _ mus _t be told of this discovery,” he said, “a copy of the lusty argonian maid, right here in Saarthal. Oh, and the orb too, I suppose.”

Mhanon snickered as he spotted the book too. No doubt wondering which mage from the college had brought it down here.

Akhara stopped on their way out to talk to the one surly conjuration wizard he had heard her talking to earlier. “I’m going to stay here for a bit. You can head back.”

“Yes but-” Rumarin started. 

Akhara jerked her head in the direction of Mhanon, mouthing the words “_ go talk to him _”. 

Rumarin’s stomach did a small somersault as he went to catch up to Mhanon and noticed the smile on his face. 

“Glad I hired you,” said Mhanon, hint of a smile still on his face. 

“Well, sure you are, now that we’re all alive. If things had gone poorly you’d be regretting your decision.” 

Mhanon let out a quiet laugh. “You could just take the compliment, you know?” 

“Ugh, but then that would make me look desperate.” 

Mhanon laughed and shook his head. They walked the rest of the way back to the college in relative silence. Rumarin told himself the heat he felt in his face was from the recent fight. 

“I’ve got to inform the Archmage. I’ll be right back,” Mhanon said before leaving Rumarin on the stairs. 

He leaned against the stone while Mhanon was inside the Archmage's quarters. Absentmindedly twirling a coin between his fingers. He was about to see if he could listen at the door when it suddenly opened. Mhanon slipping between the two large doors before catching sight of him. 

“Let’s go eat,” he said. 

“I was promised food,” Rumarin said, smiling. 

.

.

.

The two of them sat at one of the tables in the college’s kitchen, eagerly scarfing down some food. 

"There you are.” Faralda came up to them, looking a bit harried. “I've been trying to find you,” she said to Mhanon. “Ancano's been asking about you. I think he's looking for you." 

“Why me?” Mhanon said. Rumarin didn't miss the irritation in his voice. 

"I'm not sure. Just…" Faralda glanced at Rumarin, and pulled Mhanon a few steps away, whispering so he couldn't hear before patting Mhanon on the shoulder and walking away. 

Rumarin raised his eyebrows as Mhanon turned to look back at him. 

“We should go, probably stay in the library. I think Ancano is allergic to it.” 

.***.

Mhanon spoke to the old orc that ran the library while Rumarin perused the shelves at random, rolling a coin between his fingers. The one nord mage, Onmund, was there as well. And had waved Mhanon over to a certain book. Rumarin wrinkled his nose as Mhanon and Onmund discussed whatever they’d found in Saarthal in hushed tones. 

“I’ll go with you-” Rumarin heard Onmund say. 

He was about to move closer to listen to what in oblivion they were talking about when he heard careful footsteps behind him. He stopped in his tracks as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. 

"You there. I have questions for you.” Ancano’s voice sent shivers down the back of his neck as it echoed over the stone. 

Mhanon stopped as well, turning, still holding the books in his arms. 

“You were in Saarthal, yes? It has come to my attention that something was found there." 

“Maybe..." 

"I know full well that you have. Please do not insult my intelligence.” 

“We did,” Mhanon stood up straight. Though it still only put the top of his head at about Rumarin’s shoulder. 

"I am well aware.” Ancano sneered. “Tolfdir is still in Saarthal, is he? I shall be expecting a full report from him when he returns."

“Why do you care?”

"It is my job to know these things. My role as advisor to the Arch-Mage is aided by knowing everything that transpires here." 

“Everything?” Mhanon said in a disbelieving tone. 

"Something was discovered in Saarthal that was significant enough that Tolfdir sent a junior member of the College, alone, to deliver word. That sounds precisely like the sort of thing that should matter to everyone. Especially me." 

“Because you need to report back to the Thalmor on all our activity,” Mhanon scowled. 

"What? Preposterous, and just the sort of thing I would expect from mages who have nothing better to do with their time. I have made it quite clear that my only role here is as an advisor to the Arch-Mage. I would suggest that you not further spread this rumor." Ancano walked away. His footfalls clapping against the stone as he descended the stairs. 

“Well," Onmund said, "I guess that could have gone…” 

“Better,” Mhanon said at the time Rumarin said “worse”. Rumarin gave him a small smile.

Onmund huffed and looked away before turning back to Mhanon. “Master Urag gave me the list of books that were stolen-” 

Rumarin tuned out the rest of what Onmund had to say. Something about the way Onmund looked at Mhanon rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn't _ jealous _. 

Akhara entered the library and came over to where he was pretending to peruse books. “There’s a caravan headed to Whiterun from here that leaves in the morning. 

“Oh, great,” he said, not looking up from the shelf. 

She nodded towards Mhanon and raised an eyebrow, as if asking him a silent question. 

He walked over to where Mhanon stood, waiting for Onmund to leave. Which the nord finally did under pretense of packing his bag for whatever keep they were planning to go to. 

“Well,” Rumarin looked around, “It looks like we’re off to Whiterun, and eventually Markarth.”

“You sure you don't want to stay?” Mhanon asked. “I know you think you're not a mage but with such easy mastery of bound weapons I don't think I'd have a hard time convincing the Arch Mage to give you a place here.”

“Oh… no,” Rumarin shook his head. “I appreciate it. Really. But I'd rather have a blade in my hand than a tome any day.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Mhanon scratched the back of his head. 

“I’m sure we’ll be back. There’s that _ thing _ for Enthir, and I think Akhara’s been talking to Arniel Gane, too much.” Rumarin frowned. No doubt she'd managed to pick up some useless task for gold. 

Mhanon chuckled. “Good luck then. Don't forget to look me up when you come back.”

“As long as everything’s still standing when we return,” he joked. 

.***.

The two of them arrived in Whiterun no worse for wear. Travel was surprisingly easy. He assumed it was because of the milder weather. They’d barely gotten through the city gates and were walking past the various market stalls when Rumarin felt a furry hand grab him out of nowhere and pull him around. 

“There you are!” Inigo pulled both of them into a hug. His whiskers tickling Rumarin’s face. “I was wondering what was taking so long. I was about to head back to Riften myself."

“It's good you didn't.” Akhara said. Explaining how Mercer had killed the previous guild master, and Karliah had been haunting the guild, trying to get evidence. Which led to Mercer sending Akhara to Snowveil and trying to kill her there and Rumarin helping her get to Winterhold where they killed a dragon and, oh, Rumarin knew about the whole dragonborn thing, so they didn't need to hide it from him anymore. 

Inigo asked why Rumarin hadn't stayed in Windhelm, and Akhara explained he’d shown up at Snowveil after seeing Mercer, and helped her to Winterhold. 

And Inigo hugged Rumarin again, pulling his face down so he could plant a kiss on top of his head. Rumarin sheepishly said it was nothing. 

“You didn't have to come with me to Winterhold. Or even come to Snowveil for that matter.” Akhara pointed out. 

“Well, consider it my way of repaying you for what happened with that whole Alik'r thing.”

“I never said you had to repay me.” 

“Well, no but… Volf-” 

“Is in prison.” Akhara set down her tankard. 

"But…" Rumarin thought back to their conversation months ago in Solitude, “what if _ they _ ever let her out?”

“I don't think _ they _ will.” Her eyes met his. “But… you're welcome to stick with us if you're… worried.”

_ Or lonely. _

“Right.” 

“Oh, here, before I forget,” Akhara reached over and held out a yellow bottle. “I found this.” 

He took the bottle, turning it to see the label. ‘Honningbrew mead’. Certain that her idea of _ found _ meant _ stole _. Rumarin couldn't help the smile that made its way across his face. So maybe it was possible to make new friends. All it took was several adventures, near demise by a dragon, and some good old fashioned revenge. 

“So, to Markarth it is then," he smiled. Never having felt quite so pleased to have a stolen bottle of Honningbrew. 

.

.

.

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *skill level up noise* friendship increased +1  
Akhara: I don't know how to say ‘thanks for saving my life’, so I'll steal their favourite mead for them instead. 
> 
> [also, I drew Mhanon like… years ago, but, this is [ he ](https://pinadraws.tumblr.com/post/153973245872/pinacoladamatata-new-ocnew-ocnew-oc-his-name)]


	10. Jaded and Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markarth, the city of… bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual title of this chapter: Jolene, JOlene, JoLENE, JOLEEENNEEE…

.***.

Jaded 

(and under pressure)

.***.

.

.

.

_ Rumarin _

This was not the first time Rumarin had been to Markarth. But he would be fine if it was the last. The only reason they were even here was to find the court wizard and figure out how to decode the dead guildmaster’s journal. 

Rumarin looked around the crowded marketplace of Markarth as he stood next to Inigo. Various stalls were set up along the sloping stone walkways, the main thoroughfare just inside the city gates. The khajiit was bartering with a merchant for some dried meat. Their goal was to get food for the journey back to Winterhold, and in Rumarin’s case, trying to find new boots. 

Though Markarth was one of the more beautiful cities in Skyrim, there was a reason it was called the city of blood and silver. Rumarin had learnt from the local barkeep more than he really cared about the whole bloody history. And places with bloody history tended to have trouble. 

And speaking of trouble… 

A shout echoed through the market. Sounds of a scuffle near one of the merchant stalls on the other side of the street. Craning his neck he saw a breton man. And then he saw the blade. 

"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" The breton had a blade to some poor woman’s throat. 

Rumarin didn't bother trying to summon his bow, instead sliding the dagger out of his sleeve. Beside him, Inigo had reached for his sword as well. He noticed someone moving behind the breton man. The guards were all too far away.

He saw the snarl on the man’s face. The woman’s terrified expression as both her hands grabbed at the man’s arm. Before the dagger was drawn across the woman's neck. 

Multiple cries went up around the crowd. At the same moment that one of Akhara’s daggers found its way to the man’s temple. 

Several guards pushed forward through the crowd. “What in Dibella’s name just happened?” 

A woman in priest robes ran forward, hand going to the fallen woman's neck. The soft glow of a healing spell spilling between her fingers. 

Rumarin elbowed Inigo to get his attention as another breton man brushed by Akhara on the other side of the market. Akhara turned slightly to look at the man who had passed her. He wasn't sure what it was about Akhara that seemed to attract trouble. Granted, he knew he attracted trouble too, but that was usually his own doing. Akhara on the other hand… 

“Should we follow him?” Inigo said. 

Rumarin shrugged. Watching the man disappear into the crowd. 

The crowd dispersed a bit once the woman was moved. It was still unclear if she was going to be alright, but Rumarin watched as several people helped move the woman to the inn. 

Akhara walked over to them, pulling the note out of her pocket. “Did you see that?” 

“The maniac with the knife who tried to kill that girl? No, I must have missed it,” Rumarin said sarcastically.

“What is wrong with this city?” Inigo said. 

“I think they put silver in their water or something,” Rumarin replied. 

“He shouted something about the forsworn.” 

“I’m forsworn,” said Rumarin. 

Inigo and Akhara both looked at him 

“Yes, I swore off eating those honey nut treats.” 

Akhara rubbed at her temple with one hand. “Anyway, the note says to meet this person at the shrine of Talos-”

“Oh gods, you're going to aren't you?” 

“That doesn't mean I’m going to go along with whatever this is. I’m just… curious.”

“Right. You never get involved. Except you do, actually, all the time.”

“He has a point,” Inigo sighed. “How many times have we gotten sidetracked? We are in danger right now. Maybe not right this moment, but once word reaches the guild that you are alive, and it will, Mercer will hunt all of us.” 

Akhara crumpled the paper in her fist. “Fine. Let’s just go to the inn and get settled. Tell me if you hear anything about Calcelmo.” 

Inigo nodded, sparing Rumarin a sideways glance. This was going to be a long day.

.***.

Once they’d gotten rooms at the inn, Rumarin ventured over to the fire where Inigo sat, glancing around for Akhara. 

“She left,” the khajiit sighed as if sensing his unspoken question. 

“Where…?”

“Where do you think,' Inigo sighed and set down his mug. "What if it is a trap?” 

“Are you proposing we tail her? Do you even think that’s possible?” 

“I think it is, as long as we are quiet. Do you remember where the note said?” 

Rumarin nodded. Not daring to talk about a Talos shrine in the middle of a crowded inn. 

.

.

.

Rumarin led the way. He’d been to Markarth before. He knew where the ‘hidden’ Talos shrine was. Honestly it was beyond him how the Thalmor here hadn’t found it yet. Probably because they didn't walk around the city often, let alone walk through the darker, damp alley ways but, well that was why they’d hired him in the first place. 

The alley that housed the way to the shrine was narrow. The door in the center was ajar. He gestured to Inigo, pointing to the door. Inigo nodded. Both of them crept closer, pressing their ears near the opening. 

"I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market, I'm running out of time. You're an outsider. You're dangerous-looking. You'll do." 

“ _ I’ll do? _ ” The level of irritation in Akhara’s voice reached dangerous territory. The breton man seemed to realize this because he raised his voice. 

"You want answers? Well so do I. So does everyone in this city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess." 

“Alight, I thought this might be nonsense when you so poorly tried to place this note on me,” Akhara said, “but now it’s clear you’ve been drinking skeever water.” 

"You want to walk away? Fine!” The breton’s voice rang against the stone. “There's going to be no justice for that poor woman,” the man continued. “No one to care what happened to her."

Rumarin’s eyebrows shot up. He saw Inigo’s mouth open and close several times. 

“I'm not killing someone over some petty squabble.”

"This isn't some petty squabble. This has been going on for years. And all I've been able to find is murder and blood. I need help…. Please. I’ll pay you handsomely.” 

“What is it that you want, then?” she said. 

“To find out why that woman was attacked. Who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I'll pay for any information you bring me."

“How much?”

“Eight hundred gold.”

Inigo let out a silent whistle at the amount of coin. And he had to admit, that was quite a lot for some gossip. He couldn't see Akhara’s reaction, but the silence was enough. He looked at Inigo, about to ask if they should disappear before Akhara or Eltrys came out and caught them. 

The door to the shrine was shoved open before either of them had time to jump back. Akhara slipped between the doors, taking in the sight of him and Inigo clearly eavesdropping. “Following me now?” she said, one corner of her mouth turning up into a knowing smile. 

“Well after the last time, can you blame us?” 

“What he means to say is, we just wanted to make sure this wasn't a trap,” Inigo said. 

Akhara chewed on the inside of her lip while strumming her fingers along her staff. “Mhm. Feel like doing a little digging?”

“Like manual labor,” Rumarin said, “God's no.”

“I meant for secrets we can sell for gold.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then.” 

Inigo coughed into his hand and Rumarin was certain it was the kind of cough to hide laughter. “The crime solving trio continues.” 

“If you count us discovering that ghost girl in Morthal and subsequently killing that coven of vampires as crime solving.” 

“What do you count that as then?” Inigo asked. 

“Honestly, I’d call it doing the Jarl’s dirty work.” 

.***.

“The warrens ain’t the place for you lot. What d'you want?” a gruff voice asked as they entered the tunnel. 

“Names,” Akhara said sweetly. “Yours for one.”

“Garvey.” 

“Garvey,” Akhara smiled, “You wouldn’t happen to know a man named Weylin, would you?” 

"Oh yes. I know everyone who sleeps in the Warrens. Kind of the one who passes the keys around. I guess someone else will be taking his room, now." 

“Hmm,” she pursed her lips, “I need that key.” 

Garvey narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “No you don’t. Trust me.” 

_ "Ten septims says she’ll just steal it instead,” _ he whispered to Inigo from where they stood, some paces behind. 

Inigo’s whiskers twitched as he smiled, and held out a hand. They shook. 

“I wasn’t asking,” Akhara smiled wider, showing canines no mortal should have. 

“N-Now don’t get all upset. Here, take it.” 

Rumarin huffed and slipped the gold into Inigo’s outstretched hand.

.

.

.

Dirt seemed to cling to the very air in the warrens. Rumarin covered his nose with his sleeve. Rattled coughs came from behind closed doors. Weylin’s room was one of the furthest into the tunnel. It was no cleaner inside than out. Bits of useless junk was stacked along the walls and floor like a maze. The moment they entered, Akhara began turning things over, looking for anything useful. 

Rumarin narrowly avoided toppling a small pile of what looked like wooden carvings as he stepped into the room. “If I were a maniac receiving orders to kill someone in the street, where would I hide them?”

“By the fire?” Inigo guessed. “Wait, I can smell paper… here!” he moved over to the wall on the left, fingers plying away a loose stone. The small recess behind it was littered with bits of paper. Inigo pulled the first one out. 

"You have been chosen to strike fear into the heart of the nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do. Signed, N." Inigo read. 

“Wow, so this guy's orders weren't even to kill anyone, he just decided to try and kill a woman for no reason,” Rumarin said, kicking over the pile of furs that must have served as a bed only to send a cloud of dirt and dust into the already musty air. 

“So, we find out who ‘N’ is, who is probably behind these attacks, tell Eltrys, and get our gold,” Inigo said. 

.

.

.

Stepping out of the warrens, he took in a deep breath now that they were out of the filth. 

A fist connected with his nose. Rumarin staggered back, stinging pain making it hard to breath as he fell. “Agh! I think you broke my nose!” he said. 

"You've been digging around where you don't belong." The man raised his fist again, arm rearing back- Akhara came into view, fist connecting with the man’s jaw before he could duck out of the way. In a flash of blue, Inigo tackled the thug to the ground. 

“Who are you!” Inigo demanded. 

“You’ll never make me talk-” The man ground out before audibly gasping in pain as the heel of Akhara foot carefully stepped between the man’s legs. 

“Okay okay! - I was sent by Nepos the Nose. The old man hands out the orders. He told me to make sure you didn't get in the way. That's all I know, I swear!" 

“Promise?” Akhara said. 

“Yes-” That was all the thug got out when Akhara’s fist and then elbow made contact with his head once more. The man went limp. 

Rumarin decided to lay on the ground gingerly holding his nose until Inigo helped him up. 

“Come on, there’s some priests here who should be able to help.” 

Rumarin squinted at Akhara through the pain, “don’t you know basic healing spells?”

“You want me to heal it like that?” she scoffed. “Here, Inigo, take this to Eltrys.” Rumarin felt Inigo’s arm leave him. “We’ll meet you at the inn.” 

Being half guided up the stone steps to the temple of Dibella by Akhara, half focused on making sure the blood from his nose didn’t get everywhere. But being injured did not stop him from groaning when they approached the doors to the temple, flanked on either side by larger than life statues of Dibella. 

“The temple of Dibella… you what, I don't care for it,” he said as Akhara ushered him past the entryway. “To be honest, I’m a bit of prude.” 

“Just sit down and get your face healed,” Akhara said, half pushing him into a nearby chair. 

“Well, hello there,” An imperial woman in gold robes appeared, looking at the two of them as if this was a normal occurrence in this city. “What happened here?”

“He got punched in the face.” 

“Uh-huh,” the woman looked at them skeptically. 

“Look, just heal it,” Akhara held out several gold coins. The priestess nodded and slipped the gold into her pocket. 

Rumarin stiffened as the priestess approached him and took his face in her hands and began inspecting his nose, bending his head from side to side. 

“This will have to be reset,” she eyed him as if it was his fault his nose was broken. “This will hurt a little,” her face softened as she placed one hand on the back of his head, and the other grasped his nose, and pushed. He felt something pop and his eyes began to smart. 

The woman spent a few more seconds pressing along his nose to make sure it was set before healing it. “If you find it crooked over the next few weeks it'll have to be set again. But since it's been healed into place you should be fine.”

“He’s incapable of saying thank you, but I’m sure he’s grateful,” Akhara said, as Rumarin muttered under his breath. 

The priestess laughed, stepping back as if seeing Akhara for the first time. “It isn't often I’m allowed to lay my eyes upon such a handsome… specimen. While the temple isn't taking on new students perhaps you wish to rendezvous at the inn for a more… personal lesson." 

Rumarin looked up from trying to wipe the blood off his robes. Akhara stood there, mouth half open in disbelief as the priestess ran a finger along her shoulder, down to her arm. 

“I  _ do _ have a room there,” Akhara started.

“That’s great,” Rumarin interrupted, “we should really be going now.” 

“Such a shame,” the woman smiled, “perhaps I’ll see you around.” She waved as Rumarin made a beeline for the door. 

“Gods, you know out of the two of us, I didn’t think I was the one who had standards,” he said once they were outside. 

“You’re just jealous,” she stretched her arms over her head, as if she could show off her biceps to all of Markarth. “I’d be bored to tears too if I was stuck there and everyone else in the temple was communing to find their sybil.” 

“So, anyway, about Nepos the Nose,” Rumarin said as they walked back down the steps to the inn, “you’d think he’d pick a scarier sounding name. Like Nepos the Necromancer, or something.” 

“You’re one to judge people on how scary their name sounds,” she said. “Oh, watch out for Rumarin.” 

“Hey, maybe my name means something terrifying in Aldmeri. We’d never know.” 

“Yes, that thug who punched you seemed very intimidated.” 

“Right, or that just means my war paint is doing its job,” he said sarcastically. 

“Is that what that’s for?” she laughed. 

“Yes, you think I just paint my face for fun?” 

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that then. No one ever tries to just punch  _ me _ .” 

“Have you ever considered that’s because you actually are intimidating, or can be,” he said, “which is exactly why I’m glad I’m on your side.” 

“Ha,” she said, “you say  _ that _ after having your nose broken because you were snooping around with us.” 

“Yes, but we won in the end. And more importantly, have better means of getting gold.” 

“I doubt this is over. Something tells me this is bigger than just one man giving orders to have people killed.” 

“It inevitably is, but is it really our business though?” 

“It is if we want Eltry’s gold.” 

“I’m just saying, maybe we find this Nepos fellow, and leave it at that,” he shrugged, stepping into the Silver-blood inn. “Then we can focus on finding out how to translate that journal.” 

They sat down at a table near the wall. Inigo spotted them and came over. 

“I talked to Margret, the woman from the market,” Inigo said, nodding towards the solitary woman sitting by the fire. The chair scraped the stone as Inigo sat down. “I found out she is an imperial spy,” he whispered excitedly. 

Rumarin raised his eyebrows. What in blazes did the empire want with Markarth? He thought Markarth was already controlled by imperial forces. 

Akhara’s eyes roamed over the inn before- “The silversmith,” she said, tapping her fingers along her chin in thought. 

“Who?”

“He’s a fence for the guild. He might know things about Calcelmo.” 

“Won’t he um, tell Mercer?” 

“Not if word hasn't reached Markarth yet,” she said, getting up and walking over to the table where the silversmith sat. “Hello Endon, how’s business?” 

Ended looked up when she greeted him, before his face broke into a wide smile. "Business is absolutely booming, my friend! I've taken to hiring a few extra men of my own just to keep up with all the shipments.” 

Akhara laughed and sat down next to the man as he signaled the barkeep for two drinks. 

"Listen,” Endon dropped his voice so Rumarin had to strain to overhear from his spot. “I’m glad you’re here, I've been looking for some more merchandise to buy. Now I know you've come by for more than just a visit. What did you bring?"

“Some things from a magical place of study,” Akhara unhooked a pouch from her belt and set it on the table, which Endon opened, quickly glancing through the enchanted jewelry they’d stolen from Winterhold. 

“I can fetch you a good price for this,” Endon said. 

“How about I trade you for some information.” 

Endon raised an eyebrow, but nodded. 

“The court wizard. Calcelmo. Where does he stay? And how do I get on his good side? And,” Akhara said, “I’ll let you keep all your gold, if you don't tell anyone from the guild I was here.” 

“Hmm,” Endon took a drink. “Well I heard our esteemed scholar in question has a bit of a soft spot for one housecarl. Faleen is her name,” Endon said, making to stand up. “And don’t worry, you’re the one who returned my silver mold to me. Should anyone ask, I’ll tell them it’s a shame you haven’t been around.” 

Rumarin hid his grimace behind his mug as Endon left, not wanting to draw attention to himself, since he was in fact the one who’d stolen the silver mold in the first place. 

Akhara turned in her seat to look back at him and Inigo, “Okay so, who’s going to play matchmaker?” 

Rumarin shifted in his seat, noticing all eyes were on him. “Oh no,” he started. 

.***.

After quickly changing his robes, he now stood before Understone keep, wondering how in Oblivion he’d let himself get talked into this. Rumarin tugged at his shirt collar and walked inside. 

"What are you doing here?” a voice barked at him. “The excavation site is closed. I don't need any more workers or guards." The voice belonged to an elderly looking altmer who was busing himself with a bunch of pieces of dwemer metal that were scattered about a table. Who could be none other than Calcelmo, he guessed. 

“Well I was sent by... “ Rumarin decided to try his luck, “Faleen. Faleen sent me.” 

“You know Faleen?” Calcelmo’s turned to face him now, eyes wide. 

“Oh, yes…” Rumarin lied, “She just wanted to know how the excavation was coming along. How many guards there were...”

“Eh... It’s coming along well. You see... I've been thinking about Faleen quite a bit. How do you know her?” 

“Err, old family friend,” he smiled. 

"Then you know what a beauty she is!” Calcelmo said. “She is resplendent, but not without resolve. Striking, in all senses. The trouble is that I can't seem to speak around her. My mouth goes dry, and I start to shake. I could never hope to approach her."

“Right,” Rumarin tried not to frown outwardly. “Well, you just need to talk to her then.” 

"That's the trouble. I know Faleen from the Keep, but I have no idea what sorts of things she likes. It's not a simple matter.” Calcelmo wagged a finger at him. “I could offend her fairly easily by bringing up the wrong subject. I've seen it happen before." 

“Are you sure you're not overthinking this. Just get her a dagger.” 

"I can’t just get her a dagger! Daggers are culturally significant. Unless I mean to propose to her without ever having spoken, that is out of the question!” Calcelmo threw his arms in the air. “She is as volatile as a sabre cat. One wrong word, and I've seen her turn on a man so quickly..." 

“Well, Faleen has to talk to  _ someone _ ,” Rumarin said. 

"There is one... Yngvar. He's quite popular with the ladies. Thankfully, she is not quite his type, but they've been friends for some time, and he may have some ideas. Please, ask him what she likes. It's my only chance."

.

.

.

Rumarin left Understone keep in a worse mood than when he’d entered. He knew who Yngvar was. Yngvar the singer, and also Yngvar the terrible advice giver who’d told him to steal Endon’s silver mold. Okay, well, Yngvar hadn’t said to steal it outright. He’d only mentioned that it was worth a lot of gold and Rumarin had taken that for what it was… 

“Yngvar. I need to ask you a question about Faleen.”

"What?” Yngvar turned at the sound of his voice. Confusion written on his brow until he looked Rumarin up and down, nodding as recognition came across his face. “Oh. Why? Are you... interested?" 

“No, I’m not. It's… she has a secret admirer, and I’m… asking for him.” 

"Ah, a secret admirer, eh? Don't worry, I won't tell a soul.” Yngvar winked and Rumarin didn't appreciate where this was going. Akhara was going to have to pay him extra. 

“As for what she might like... I didn't tell you this. Faleen likes to act tough, but she really has a soft spot for, of all things, poetry. You know, I took some classes at the Bards College as a youth. Poems come in handy when wooing. There's a poem I once used on an older lady of Rorikstead. I can change it to be about Faleen. Say… two hundred gold?”

“Two hundred gold!?” 

“What?” Yngvar scowled. “You expect me to give my words away? I need to cover my expenses with the Silver-Bloods.” 

Rumarin groaned, and fished out the gold, placing it into Yngvar’s open palm none too gently. 

"Wonderful. I'll write it out so you won't forget it. On second thought,” Yngvar looked him up and down, “you should probably just let Faleen read it herself. Don't want you stumbling over the words and ruining my flow."

“It's not- ugh, nevermind.” 

.***.

Rumarin all but stomped back up the steps to the keep looking for Faleen. Stupid Yngvar. Stupid Clalcemo. He didn't want to admit Yngvar was probably right to get the poem directly to Faleen. While he didn't appreciate Yngavar thinking he couldn't read a poem to save his life, he was fairly certain that was true for Calcelmo. 

A few questions to some confused guards later, and Rumarin stood in Faleen’s quarters while she read whatever trite Yngvar had written. He watched her face carefully, her expression going from confusion, to surprise, and then something else. 

“This is… lovely. Calcelmo wrote this? About me? I never knew…” 

“Yes,” Rumarin cleared his throat, “he um, thinks you're great.” 

“Clearly,” she frowned. “There’s been so many times where we’ve almost spoken, but… I’ve never even thought of him in that manner though. I wish I was as skilled with words as he.”

“Well, I should get going. I can tell him you… liked the poem?”

“Wait,” Faleen rushed to her bedside table and scribbled something down on a piece of paper before folding it and holding it out. “Take him this. I may not be as eloquent as he is but I hope he understands.” 

Rumarin forced a smile and took the letter. 

.***.

Calcelmo wasn’t at the place where he’d first found him overseeing the excavation site. Rumarin stopped the nearest guard. 

“He’s back in his tower,” the guard said, pointing him towards the other end of the keep. Ignoring the ‘damned wizards’ comment that floated from the guard as he walked away. 

Approaching the large metal doors, he knocked, still holding the letter. A guard opened the door, narrowing his eyes at Rumarin. 

“I need to see Calcelmo,” he said.

“And I have strict orders not to let anyone in.” 

“Urgh, just tell him it's about Fa- Yngvar.” 

The guard raised an eyebrow at him, but nodded and disappeared, leaving Rumarin to wait in the entry to the museum. Which, as it was, was impressive. The problem was, he was supposed to somehow manage to get past it, into Calcelmo’s laboratory. And the place was absolutely  _ crawling _ with guards. 

“Wow,” Rumarin whistled under his breath at the walls lined with dwemer instruments and metals, “there are more guards here than at the emperor's wedding. Calcelmo must really love his research.” 

“You were at the emperor’s wedding?” Akhara’s voice came out of thin air. He jumped. There was a clang of dwemer metal on stone as he sent a plate spinning before he caught it and steadied it with his hands before letting out a long breath. 

Several guards looked over in his direction before continuing on with their boring patrol as Rumarin pretended he had  _ not  _ just heard a voice behind him. 

“How long were you following me?” Rumarin hissed under his breath, trying to discern where she was based on where her voice had come from. “Is that really the information you took out of that?” 

“Since you came back to the keep," she whispered. "The current emperor got married in the year one-fifty-eight. That’s over forty years ago." 

“Wow, was it really that long ago?” Rumarin mused, moving over to another shelf of dwemer pots and silverware. 

“How old  _ are _ you?”

“Are you really sure we shouldn’t be focusing on these  _ exciting dwemer artifacts  _ instead?” he said pointedly. Evading the question because he knew where this was heading.  _ Besides, didn't this gear look fascinating _ .

“How. Old. Are. You?” each word hissed under her breath. 

“Oh Cloudrest, fine. I'm seventy one.” 

“What!? That’s ridiculous…”

Rumarin rolled his eyes. “Are we seriously discussing  _ my age _ right now?” Rumarin struggled to keep his voice low enough that the guards wouldn’t hear. 

Akhara let out an annoyed grunt in response. 

A few more moments passed in silence before the guard came back. “I’m supposed to show you through, follow me.” 

.

.

.

.***.

The guard left them at the door to Calcelmo’s chambers. Well, he left Rumarin there. Rumarin wasn't sure if Akhara was with him or not. He wouldn't be surprised if she was still in the laboratory that they’d walked through looking for anything falmer related. 

Rumarin entered the chamber and headed up the steps to where Calcelmo was working at a large desk, strewn with parchment covered in charcoal markings and odd symbols. 

“You! You're back. Well, what did you find out?” 

“Er, Faleen wanted me to give you this letter.”

“You spoke to her? What did she say?” Calcelmo asked as he snatched the letter out of his hand. "This is... more than I could have hoped for. Have you really done this for me? I have to see her. Please, excuse me." Calcelmo pushed past him and he heard the brass door open and clang shut as Calcelmo rushed out. 

Rumarin stood in the center of the laboratory, now completely alone. Looking around at the haphazard mess of notes that was Calcelmo’s workplace. Blowing a few stray hairs out of his face, he began walking around the room, looking for the manuscript Calcelmo had mentioned he was working on. 

Rumarin jumped and at the sight of a piece of parchment lifting itself off the table in front of him. 

“Really?” came Akhara’s voice. 

“One of these days you’re going to give me a genuine heart attack with that awful shadow sign ability of yours.” 

“Quit whining and hold this for me.” The floating parchment brandished itself towards the large stone with etchings that was on display. 

He frowned, but held up the corners of the parchment over the stone, while Akhara moved the charcoal back and forth across it, creating a rubbing. 

He hated shadow signs.

.

.

.

.***.

“Inigo, our bladebinder over here is seventy-one years old,” Akhara said as soon as they crossed the threshold to the Silver-Blood inn. 

“What is it with you and-” 

“For seventy-one years old, you’re looking rather fabulous my friend,” said Inigo. 

“Thank you, I’ll pretend that’s a compliment on my own superior good looks, and nothing to do with the fact that altmer tend to age very slowly.” 

Akhara was staring at him with that furrow in her brow that told him she was thinking particularly hard about something.

“Did you really not know that altmer live for several centuries? I mean, well, that is if nothing else kills you first.” 

“Yes but…” she made strange gestures with her hands, “does that mean you, what-stay a child for twenty years? Reach puberty at thirty-five?” 

Rumarin gave her puzzled look. Any other time he would have thought she was joking, but… the look on her face said she was quite serious. 

“Um, no? We age the same as everyone else, just seems to level off around adulthood or so…” 

He watched her face as she continued to chew on her lips, her brow furrowed in concentration. Whatever in oblivion was wrong with her? 

“Inigo, how old are you?” she asked.

“I have reached the humble age of thirty-four!” he bowed. 

“Does this mean I get to be the leader now?” Rumarin walked up behind her. 

“No this means we’re done here, since you can just tell us about the falmer from your memories,” Akhara said with a wave. 

“Hang on,” Rumarin said, “don't think I didn't notice. How old are  _ you _ ?”

Akhara’s knuckles rapped along the wooden table as she bit the inside of her cheek. “Would it make sense if I said I don't know?” 

“You don't know your birthday?!” Inigo said. 

“No, I was born on the 24th of second seed. I just don't know the year.”

“Hmm,” Inigo scratched his chin, “I would have guessed you were at least twenty-five. But, now you can make up your own age! We will celebrate once your birthday comes!” 

“Ah, great, I’ve been following an infant.” 

“Because you act mature,” she said sarcastically. 

“You know my mother did mention something about how I stayed with them until I was thirty-five," he mused.

“Oh, here, your share of the gold from Eltrys.” Akhara handed him a small bag of coin. “What? Don't give me that look. I went to tell him what we learned while you off flirting with Calcelmo.” 

“That is no way to speak to your elders. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“No you're not,” Akhara said. “I want to hit something. Let’s go see this Nepo’s who tried to threaten us.” 

.***.

Akhara’s fist banged on the metal door before them. The resounding clang echoed even outside, before a woman cracked the door open. 

"Excuse me. What's your business here?" 

"I'm here to see Nepos."

"We haven't been expecting you, and the old man needs his rest. Come back some other time."

She made to close the door, but Akhara’s foot stopped it in its path. "Who are you?"

"If you must know, I'm the maid. And the master of the house is old and needs his rest. So if you don't have any business. Leave."

Inigo cleared his throat. 

"Wait,” came an older voice from inside. “It's okay, my dear. Send them in." 

"Hmph. Yes, Nepos," the maid glared at the lot of them. "You heard him. Go on in." 

"I'm sorry about my housekeeper. She's a little protective of me. Now, what is it you want?" 

“I think this is more about what  _ you _ want, sending some common thug to threaten me?” Akhara marched over to where the old man sat by a fireplace. “The idiot didn't even hit the right target.” 

"Ah, yes. You've proven to be a real bloodhound. Well, you've sniffed me out. I've been playing this game for almost 20 years. Sending the young to their deaths. All in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm tired. So tired." 

“Why.” 

"Because my king told me to. Madanach." 

“Madanach? The ‘king’ of the Forsworn?” Rumarin whished Akhara wouldn’t sneer. He loved gloating as much as the next elf but gloating here, surrounded by enemies when it was likely to get them killed? Not so much. 

“You are a monster,” Inigo said. 

"A monster? No. I'm just a servant."

Rumarin hung back by the long table. Keeping an eye on the conversation between Akhara and Nepos. The old man was ranting about how he served Madanach and there was more nord nonsense about how the land was  _ theirs _ . Rumarin really couldn't care less. Only difference here was that these nords hated Ulfric for taking over their home and forcing them to abandon their gods. The irony was quite thick. 

He eyed a sweetroll on the table, noticing the housekeeper who’d greeted them watching him intently from where she stood sweeping. He felt the faintest tingling as the hair on the back of his neck tickled. There were magic users here. 

“Why even tell us all this?” Akhara asked, her face turned into a scowl. 

"My dear girl,” Nepos shook his head and smiled, “what makes you think you're getting out of here alive?” 

Rumarin felt the room freeze. He saw Akhara reaching for her quarterstaff and Inigo’s ears laying back against his head. 

“You were seen coming in. The girl at the door is a Forsworn agent masquerading as a maid. You aren't the first ones to have gotten this far. You won't be the last." 

That was all he needed. Blue sparks ran along his fingers as he summoned a sword and grabbed an apple from the table, lobbing it at the cook who came around the corner with a knife Rumarin was certain was never actually used for cooking.

An arrow found its mark in the cook's chest as Inigo used the moment of distraction. 

Shocks went through his side. Falling to one knee, he raised his sword up to block the attack from the maid swinging a knife. Her face contorted into a snarl as she attacked again, her other hand sparking. 

"Urgh stop fighting so rough!" 

Heat exploded in the room. He ducked. Over his arm he saw Nepos. Dagger in one hand. Flames in the other. 

Inigo leapt over the stone table, bow trained on another servant who appeared from the kitchen brandishing a meat cleaver.

Rumarin blocked another swing from the maid, her dagger coming dangerously close to his chest. 

A loud crack echoed through the room. The end of Akhara’s staff connected with Nepos’ head. And that was that. The old man crumpled to the floor. 

A scream tore itself from the maids throat as she saw the scene before them. Forgetting about Rumarin, her face contorted in rage and her hands like claws as she moved towards Akhara. He was momentarily reminded of a hagraven. 

He pulled his arm back, feeling the dagger slide into his palm. And threw it. 

She fell to the floor. Unmoving. 

Akhara stood near the fireplace where Nepos rested, looking between him and Inigo before relaxing her grip on her staff. 

“Well… do you think the guards heard that through the stone?” she looked towards the door. 

Inigo let out a sigh and looked down at the two men who had been masquerading as cooks, now on the floor. 

Rumarin wiped his brow with the back of his hand, letting his sword vanish. “When Nepos said we weren’t leaving his home alive I got a chill down my spine. Not that I doubted you, he was just very convincing.” 

“I think he singed my tail,” Inigo frowned, holding up the end of his tail. The smell of burnt hair still lingered in the room. 

"Serves him right for dying then. In case any guards are on their way, we should leave," he said. 

Inigo nodded and checked the door, making sure the coast was clear before they all slipped down the stone steps, taking the long way back to the inn.

"Eltrys will be waiting," said Akhara.

"Well, let's get this over with. I don't know about you two but I am ready to never come back to this city."

“It's probably best if I go alone," she said, looking between him and Inigo with a skeptical expression on her face. “I don't think either of you are… how do I put this, capable of using invisibility.” 

“She is right,” Inigo said, giving Rumarin a sour face. 

“Okay, fine, But promise you won't take most of, or more than your share of the gold?” Rumarin said, only half joking. 

“ _ I  _ would never,” she said, giving him a pointed stare. 

Rumarin wrinkled his nose in response as she turned and walked down an alley towards the shrine. He and Inigo continued onwards to the inn.

“Inigo, how do you put up with that?” 

“Put up with what? 

“The whole… you know what, nevermind. I’m still curious as to why you actually follow her around. You don't need the coin.”

“I owe her a great deal.” 

“Surely you've repaid it by now,” Rumarin said, “I mean, I’ve seen you save both our hides more than once.

“It is not… that kind of debt.” 

“Does it have anything to do with her… shouting?” 

“No. In fact, I was indebted to her long before we ever came across our first dragon.” 

“First dragon?” Rumarin said. “When exactly…. was that?"

“Well, for her it may have been sooner. I think Helgen. But the first time we fought one, was several months ago. Several months before we ran into you, in fact.” 

Rumarin thought back to what he’d been doing several months before. He recalled the rumors pinning Ulfric as dragonborn had indeed started after the dragon attack on Helgen. He knew Akhara was at Helgen as well. But if she really was dragonborn, instead of Ulfric, then what in oblivion was she doing avoiding all authorities and working for the thieves guild? Or well…  _ had been _ working for the thieves guild, he supposed. Since now they likely thought she was a traitor, and dead, as Mercer had almost certainly made it back by now. 

But really beyond the fact that she could shout in the dragon language, there was really nothing else. She wasn't a nord. She wasn't a descendant from any long lost lines of Ysgramor or anything, at least not to his knowledge. 

"You want to play iron hearts?" He asked. 

"Sure, but I do not know the rules. You will have to teach me," Inigo grinned.

.

.

.

Inigo was lying about not knowing how to play iron hearts, Rumarin decided. Either that or he had incredible luck, because Rumarin was cheating in order to win now. 

There was some commotion at the door of the tavern. He and Inigo looked up from their cards. The innkeep and several others crowded around it as Rumarin saw a young breton woman being ushered in. Her face streaked with tears. The innkeeper's wife had an arm around her, half supporting her, and led her to a chair by the fire. 

Every face in the room was staring at either the innkeeper, or the young woman. 

Klepper was still at the door, talking to a guard. Rumarin caught the words “Eltrys… killed by a forsworn…” and "was arrested”. 

“I am starting to dislike this city,” Inigo said. Rumarin nodded in return. There was only one other person who was with Eltrys, who could have been arrested. And Rumarin was fairly certain there was only one person in Markarth right now who could be at the center of this kind of trouble. 

Inigo stood up, pushing his chair back and went to talk to Kleppr. Several people were still crowded around the door, all asking questions. 

The breton woman by the fire continued to sob while Frabbi handed the girl a handkerchief, and comforted her, one hand on her back. Through her frantic words while sobbing, Rumarin gathered the woman must have been Eltrys wife. He bit his lip. The coin Eltrys had given them earlier was burning hot in his pocket. 

“I can’t do this by myself,” she cried. Both hands covering her stomach as she rocked back and forth in the chair. “What am I going to do!”. 

Frabbi looked over at Kleppr, something heavy in their expressions and there was a split second where Rumarin could have sworn the two didn't hate each other. 

It was at that moment that he heard Frabbi say something to her, trying to calm her down. And the woman interrupted her sobs to whisper, “but the baby...” before then crying harder than before. 

Rumarin rubbed at the side of his face. Trying to look elsewhere, anywhere other than the woman sobbing by fire. Who’s husband was dead, and it was probably their fault. 

Rumarin glanced over at Inigo, who was looking equally heartbroken. Had they done this? Was this their fault? For encouraging Eltrys in some quest for answers and instead getting in way over his head? 

Hroki came over to help Frabbi stand the woman up. The two led the woman away into one of the inn’s rooms. Leaving her shawl and bag behind on the table. Her sobs still echoing off the stone walls until the thud of the metal dwemer door closed. 

Rumarin brushed his fingers against the pouch containing the gold from Eltrys.  _ Isn't this sort of behavior what got you into this in the first place _ , he thought, as he lifted the pouch from his belt. 

He wasn't even really ever sure if it had been worth it, giving all that gold to the bandits. Sure it had saved the girl's mother. Probably at the expense of giving the bandits exactly what they wanted. But there were no bandits here. Just a woman Rumarin felt sorry for. More so now. Not just because her husband was dead because of them, but that baby would grow up with one less person to love it. He wasn't even sure if the knowledge that Eltrys had a pregnant wife waiting for him would have changed his, or Inigo’s, or Akahra’s mind to help him. He wasn't sure if that made him a terrible person too. 

Either way, when Frabbi or Hroki came out to grab her shawl and satchel, there would be a little more gold in it than there was before. 

.

.

.

.***.

.

.

.

It was nearly seven days before Rumarin and Inigo had put together a plan to get Akhara out of Cidhna mine. There was also the issue of getting a sleeping draught to her. Lest she transform during the upcoming full moon while inside a mine… full of silver… he didn’t want to think about it.

The night was quiet when he and Inigo left the Hag's Cure. Their plan involved procuring a sleeping draught. The plan had nearly worked too. Except for one small problem.

Shouting came from up near the keep. There was a flash of purple. And forsworn came down the steps like ants. Rumarin and Inigo looked at one another, not sure whether to fight or flee when one of the fur dressed fighters barreled right into both of them. 

Rumarin stumbled back a few paces from the force, sticking his hand out to shove them off when he recognized the face before him.

“Akhara?!” 

“How did you-” Inigo began 

“Not now, we need to move,” she grabbed both of their wrists and practically hauled them out of the city amidst the fighting. 

They ran. Out of the city. Out of the view of Markarth. Past the farms outside the walls. They didn't stop running until they reached the river. Then Akhara doubled over, hands on her knees, breathing rapidly from running.

“Wow… so…” his chest ached from running, “you escaped Cidhna mine,” Rumarin said. His lungs were on fire. He didn't think he'd run that fast since… ever probably. “Guess I owe Yngvar ten septims then.”

“How did you escape?” Inigo asked. “We heard fighting just before the forsworn came running.”

“Yes. About that.” Akhara took a deep breath. “I helped Madanach escape, and I er… killed Thonar Silver-blood.”

“You what!” Inigo cried. 

“Hang on," Rumarin said, standing up, “help me out here. How exactly is releasing a bunch of bloodthirsty maniacs into the wild going help?” 

“Ugh!” she growled, taking a fistful of her own curls, “it won’t! I don't really care who lived or died. I'm out!”

“Ha! Well I'm sure wherever Thonar is he'll be glad to know you didn't put much thought into his death.” 

“He's in the fucking ash pits, hopefully.”

“But you are alive!” Inigo said. “Ultimately, I am glad we did not have to bust you out. I don’t think this city needs anymore bloodshed.” 

Akhara let out a quiet laugh and stood up, looking at the night sky. “I’m going to need to find a sleeping draught, or else it’s going to be a very long night.” 

Oh, right. In the commotion with the forsworn he’d almost forgotten about the full moon. 

“Actually, I have one.” Rumarin pulled the small bottle out of his pocket and held it out. 

Akhara eyed the small bottle carefully before looking up at him. “Where did you get this?”

“I...oh, nowhere,” he lied. No need for her to know he'd spent the last week scrounging coins and odds jobs. Or that he had gone to visit the Hag’s Cure shop one too many times, or how he’d delivered a potion of the stallion to the Jarl's steward and now the owner knew him by name. 

.

.

.

Trekking across the entire province of Skyrim for the second time wasn’t much easier than the first. The few dragon shrines they passed were easily avoided. The closest they came was passing one in the fields outside of Whiterun. Close enough to count the people that moved about it. Still, too far to make out any faces. 

Only this time, after what had happened in Winterhold, Rumarin couldn't help but wonder if there was something they could be doing about it, or… if there was something _ Akhara _ could be doing. She turned her head as they passed it, looking out over the fields of tundra cotton to the dark shape growing in the distance, as if she was wondering the same thing. 

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumarin basically trolling Calcelmo here lol Also totally made up the idea about daggers being significant to redguards in the sense that you would typically propose with one. I just like the idea of people proposing with fancy knives. And don’t even ask me the amount of forums I visited researching altmer aging and lifespan. I am taking bethesda lore and running with it. Not even god howard can stop me. 
> 
> So wow this chapter took a sad turn there. I wasn't expecting it too, but replaying it I realized that Rhiada is actually pregnant with Eltrys’ child according to his dialogue, and then that sad scene happened. Thought it was a good way for Rumarin’s small non-stranger-liking-heart to show itself. Like it did with that story about the bandits and the little girl. Of course, no one else knows about that. So Rumarin’s secret about his charity is safe, for now. 
> 
> also maybe as a fun note: my phone continues to try and autocorrect "Ysgramor" to "mammogram"


	11. Killing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group of el gee be tees goes into labyrinthian, they all come out. That's it that's the joke.

.***.

Killing Time

.***.

.

.

.

_ Rumarin _

  
  


Winterhold was chaos. At first Rumarin had thought it was just windier than usual as they approached. But then there was yelling. A streak of white blue energy whipped through the street before it exploded in front of Faralda who stood with several other mages in the street, hands up as she cast spell after spell towards the streaks of blue that weaved through the air. 

“Rumarin! Akhara!” Mhanon cried. The wind crackled with pure arcane energy.

“What happened?” Akhara yelled over the wind. 

“It’s Ancano, he did something with the eye of Magnus.”

“The what?” 

“The orb!” 

Rumarin looked towards the college. Most of the people seemed to be out in the streets, fighting or running. One of the blue wisps came towards them, before exploding into shards at Inigo’s arrow. 

“What in oblivion are those things?”

“Arcane wisps. I need to get to labyrinthian. The Arch mage, he-” 

“Woah, slow down!” Rumarin brought up a hand to Mhanon's shoulders to steady him. Noticing the red around Mhanon’s eyes, Rumarin looked over to Akhara, making eye contact as he realized Ancano must have killed the Archmage, and the college was on the verge of blowing Winterhold to pieces. 

Akhara swore under her breath. “Is Enthir still here?” she asked.

One of the mages nodded and pointed down the road. Akhara took off in that direction.

“He said to go to labyrinthian," Mhanon finished.

“What's in labyrinthian?” Rumarin asked. 

Mhanon shook his head. Still staring at nothing. 

“The archmage left this,” another student with short dark hair held up what looked to be a large iron ring. 

Another mage, this one wearing conjuration robes, spoke, “Mhanon, Onmund, you should follow whatever clue Savos left you. We’ll hold things here.” 

“Well, this was an interesting first visit to Winterhold,” Inigo said. 

“It seems to be like this every time,” said Rumarin. 

“I know where labyrinthian is,” Onmund stepped forward. “I’m going with you.” 

Mhanon nodded, before turning to Rumarin. "I hate to ask you to risk your life for this-"

Rumarin shook his head, "nonsense! I risk my life on a daily basis. I'll go with you. Someone has to tell jokes."

“You really think the three of us stand a chance trekking through labyrinthian?” Onmund asked. 

“The three of you?” Akhara reappeared behind them, “not likely. Thankfully, I’ll give you something to hide behind.” 

“I knew I could count on you,” Rumarin smiled at her. “Glad to know you’re totally okay with being used as a meat shield for mages. Not that I’ll be doing the shielding, or that I’m a mage… I’ll just… stop now.” 

“We’d be glad to have you with us,” Mhanon said. “I know you're not associated with the college but-”

“Save it,” Akhara held up a hand. “The college has things I need. I’ll help. Besides, Collette did heal me after that dragon attack.” 

“There are going to be draugr in this labyrinthian?” Inigo said, already frowning. 

Akhara looked at Mhanon, who nodded. 

“I will stay here and help protect the town then,” said Inigo. 

“And also probably the mages from the angry locals, if the Jarl’s attitude is any indication.” 

.

.

.

.***.

.

.

.

The travel to Labyrinthian took almost two days. When they made camp the first night Onmund busied himself setting up their tent while Rumarin started to make a fire, which was made much easier by the fact they had two mages with them. 

Onmund was quick to fill the spot next to Mhanon in the first tent. Leaving Rumarin to look at Akhara who shook her head said something about hunting down some dinner. 

Rumarin took first watch, and by watch it was really more of him poking at the dwindling fire. The light glinted off Mhanon’s deep brown eyes as the redguard came to sit next to him by the flames. A snore came from the dark blob of blankets that was Onmund. 

“Where is she going?” Mhanon asked, watching Akhara’s dark form wander off into the woods. 

“Oh, you know, hunting, frolicking.” 

“She’s going out there alone? It isn’t-” he broke off, his thoughts interrupted by the light of the nearly full moons. “Oh,” he said. 

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Rumarin smiled at him, “I didn’t figure it out until I saw her transform. You though, that took what, a minute?” 

Mhanon’s face turned into a lopsided grin, “well, I  _ do  _ study a lot. She will be alright out there though?” 

Rumarin laughed before seeing Mhanon’s worried expression. “Oh, you’re serious?” 

Mhanon nodded. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He poked at the fire again, sending a few sparks into the air. They only made it a few feet, before being extinguished in the cold. “She once took out an entire coven of Vampires and I don’t think she even had a bruise.” 

“Still, cold is a different kind of foe.” 

“She’s got fur,” he shrugged. 

A small laugh escaped Mhanon, his breath turning into fog in the cold. 

"Really though she'll be fine. She actually, um, what's the word I'm looking for? Retains her faculties. Or, at least that's what Inigo told me."

"That's incredible," Mhanon's eyes lit up, the fire casting a bronze glow on his skin. "She must have done mediation, or training. I read that only some are able to maintain their minds when they transform. Do you know how she does it?"

"Oh, we haven't talked about it much. Most full moons she just sleeps through with the help of a sleeping potion."

Both of them sat a little straighter as a howl echoed through the trees. 

.

.

.

A few hours later, Akhara came back carrying several rabbits, which they cooked and ate. The smell waking Onmund who said he would take next watch. Rumarin didn’t have to see the look on Akhara’s face to know she wasn’t happy with the sleeping arrangements. So the only natural thing to do was procrastinate going to sleep. Only it came to a point where he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. 

Eventually, Akhara ended the stalemate after he began nodding off in front of the fire. “I’ll sleep outside,” she said. 

“You're not sleeping out here. My mother would kill me.”

“Your mother?” Akhara laughed. 

“Yes. What, did you think I grew from one of those glowing trees? Growing up I never had my own tent. Always had to share it with someone. My point is, I know how to share a tent. I just don’t like to. But I’ll do it if it makes me feel better about not making you sleep in the snow.” 

“This explains a lot.” 

“Well, do you want to sleep in the snow or not?” 

“Gah, fine. I’ll sleep in the tent if you’ll be quiet.” 

“I know how to be quiet,” he huffed, following her into the tent. Shifting onto his side, as far to the side of the tent as he could get. One plus side to having a companion who was a werewolf, the tent was  _ warm _ , despite the snow and frost outside. 

.

.

.

.***.

“Are we sure we’re ready to do this?” Rumarin said, standing behind Mhanon and Onmund as the four of them stood before the great door to labyrinthian. 

“You waited until now to have second thoughts?” Onmund said.

“Well it's just that once we open these doors we don't know what's on the other side of them.” 

“Draugr, probably,” said Akhara.

“And likely other undead,” Mhanon added.

“Shalidor's maze used to be used as a training ritual to select the new archmage,” said Onmund. 

“So does this mean if we all make it through, we become the archmages? Or archmagi?” Rumarin said.

Akhara pinched the bridge of her nose. Other hand holding her quarterstaff at her side. 

“There won't  _ be _ a college to be archmage of if we aren't successful,” Mhanon said, holding the iron ring. 

He held it up the door, sliding it into place with a click. It took all four of them to open the great door. The hair on the back of his neck stood up when the door seemed to close itself once they were inside. And just like that, they were closed in darkness, in an ancient nordic maze. 

.

.

.

Rumarin had never felt any kind of old magical presence like what was in these ruins. He was sure Mhanon had noticed it too. The way the redguard mage kept looking back over his shoulder at shadows and things that weren't there once you looked directly at them. 

“What is this?” Onmund peered in through the archway that led into the enormous cavern. 

“Looks like an ambush waiting to happen,” said Akhara. 

“Well, we won't know until we trigger it,” Rumarin said. He ignored the look she gave Mhanon, as if they knew something he didn’t, and rolled her shoulders. 

Onmund stepped forward, ready to make his way into the chamber. “I guess we should just-” 

“I think,” Akhara’s arm came out to stop Onmund from going any further, “those of us who are stealthy, and not wearing only cloth robes as protection, should be the first to enter.” 

“Oh,” Onmund said, looking down at her arm in front of his chest, eyes widening slightly, as if just now realizing she could probably lift him overhead, “Right.” 

Akhara raised her eyebrows at him and stepped out into the large room, quarterstaff at her side. The rest of them followed carefully behind her. Their footfalls leaving soft impressions in the dirt of the large cavern. 

“There's another door,” Akhara whispered loud enough for them to hear, “on the other side.”

Something rumbled. Loose dirt fell from cracks in the stone ceiling. 

Rumarin looked over at Onmund who was staring upwards, as if something was going to fall out of the rock above them. 

Akhara was almost perfectly still. Rumarin would have sworn he saw her ears twitch. 

“Something’s here,” Mhanon said, his hands were raised, ready to cast. Even without casting, the occasional purplish blue spark arch between his fingers. “I can sense… undead.” 

They all froze as a large bony claw came out of the ground ahead of them. 

Then the claw turned into a wing, and a head, as a very large, very skeletal dragon pushed itself up out of the ground. And Roared. An icy wind spewing from its jaws. 

“Okay, you were right,” he yelled, conjuring his bow. Various other smaller, human, skeletons crawled out of the ground. Light from spells flashed around him. 

“Frost does nothing!” Onmund yelled and threw up a ward. One of the smaller skeleton’s fired an arrow at him. 

Rumarin’s arrows bounced off the bone dragon with no impact. “How in blazes are we supposed to kill this thing?!” The bone dragon reared back, opening its skeletal jaws. Ice lined its teeth, fog rolling out of its mouth from the cold. 

Heat erupted in front of the dragon. Mhanon’s brow furrowed in concentration as he flung another fireball towards it. 

Bits of blackened bone flaked off from the dragone. The smell of sulphur burning his nose as the bone burned. 

“Fire! Use fire!” 

Rumarin swore. Fire. Well that rendered him completely useless against the dragon. He shot another arrow at a skeleton, its axe aimed for Onmund’s back. 

Mhanon raised his hands again, fire curling around his arms as he concentrated on another blast. 

Rumarin ducked behind a rock. Heat blowing hair into his face. Another blast. And another. His hands clamped over his ears to drown out the sound of fire. 

The blasts stopped. 

“Is it dead?” Rumarin piped up from behind the rock, “I mean it’s a bone dragon, I know it’s dead, but is it  _ dead _ dead?” 

“I think so?” 

He looked over at Akhara, who was pushing herself up off the ground. Mhanon and Onmund moved closer, staying to the edges while moving around the dragon bones. Rumarin stood next to Akhara. “Do you… hear anything?”

“No… odd. There was no soul.” 

“There was no what?” Onmund looked confused. 

“Interesting,” said Mhanon. 

Akhara shrugged, and began walking for the door on the other side of the chamber. 

Magelight bounced off the walls as they continued deeper into the ruin. Rumarin couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder as they walked. Aside from a few draugr, they encountered nothing. Sometimes he thought he saw things, or heard something, but each time he turned there was only dark, cobwebs, and stone. 

The four of them froze when a voice drifted through the halls. Not in any language he recognized. 

“Do any of you understand what he’s saying? Because I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

Mhanon and Onmund shook their heads. 

Akhara frowned, rubbing at her forehead. “It’s… the dragon language.” 

“What is he saying?” Mhanon asked. 

“Something about ‘cowards… no mercy’.” 

“Wow, I might have called us stupid, but cowards?” Rumarin shook his head. 

The voice came again. “You do not answer. Must I use this guttural tongue of yours?” 

“Who are you?” Mhanon directed his question into the dark. 

“You... You are not Aren, are you? Has he sent you in his place?"

“Savos Aren?” Mhanon said. “Why do you know him?” 

But the voice was silent again. The tingling feeling of magicka raising goosebumps on his skin grew as they got closer. Coming through another doorway they stepped out into a large cavern. A waterfall in the distance, steps led up to ledges and pillars to the left, while on the right… Something, no, someone, stood encased by a glowing ball of magicka. Two beams of light coming from the pillars-where two more beings, nearly translucent, locked in some sort of silent struggle. 

“What is this?” Akhara hissed. 

“I don’t know,” Mhanon started. 

“Savos Aren had the key to this place,” Onmund said, rubbing his chin. “What if-” 

The whole room felt… still. Despite the struggle between the three figures. “The energies here,” Mhanon began rambling about magic and time and other things Rumarin didn’t want to think about. What he was concerned with, was how they were supposed to get the staff from the creature currently frozen in time, and get out. 

“So what if we disturb one of them?” he said, reaching a hand out to touch the figure before anyone had time to react. 

The stream of light ended. The figure stood. Rumarin couldn't see it’s face, but the clawed hands lunged towards him. His bound sword swiped through the air, where the figure stood. As soon as the bound blade made contact with it, it vanished. Leaving Rumarin with nothing but a chill down his back. 

“De’nt!” Akhara swore behind his back, her knuckles tight against her staff. 

“What?!” he said defensively. “Nothing happened. They’re just ghosts.”

“They’re keeping it here,” Onmund said suddenly, looking up at them. “These ghosts were part of the last group from the college that came with Savos.” 

Rumarin ran a hand over his mouth. “Does that mean only one of us is leaving here?” 

“No.” Mhanon stood facing the rest of them. “Not if I can help it. Savos must have left them here to trap this dragon priest, but he left us a key to get back in. And we need that staff. We aren’t here to keep this creature contained. We’re here to destroy it.” 

“If we destroy that one, I think it will free the priest,” Onmund said, examining glyphs on the ground. 

Akhara straighted, gripping her staff with one hand. “What are the rest of us who don’t have magic supposed to do?” 

Mhanon chewed on his lips. “Stay hidden, and maybe shout at it?” 

Akhara nodded. 

He and Akhara stationed themselves near a stone wall that offered cover and a vantage point. If there was going to be a magical showdown, he wanted stone between him and  _ it _ . He summoned his bow, just in case, and peered over the ledge of the wall. 

Onmund and Mhanon shared a look before Onmund nodded. Warm glow of fire coating his arms, and quickly ended the remaining ghost. 

Light exploded from the bubble. For a moment, the room was so quiet Rumarin could have sworn he heard the fifth figure drawing breath. 

Then it began to move. All wrong. It didn’t walk. It hovered. He heard Akhara swear from her spot next to him. 

The two mages began casting in tandem. Lights flashed overhead, casting the rock in different colors. Red. Green. Now red. Blue. Orange. Fire. 

The voice laughed. More fire.

Fire! Fire! Fire!

Rumarin ducked back down, squeezing his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the sound of flame erupting around them. A hand grasped his arm. 

He looked to see Akhara tilting her head, confusion or concern written on her brow. She nodded at him once. He nodded back. She let go of his arm. 

She turned back, craning her neck to look over the wall. She inhaled deeply. “Fus!” 

That same sound he heard when she’d shouted at the dragon. It knocked the dragon priest back. In the split second it took, Mhanon cast again. This time a beam of light that hurt Rumarin’s eyes shot from the redguards palms. 

The creature made a noise. A shrill, trilling sound swallowed his ears. Argh, gods it was awful! Pressing his hands over his ears did nothing to drown it out. 

The shrill sound ended with a pop. Rumarin looked up. Mhanon stood, on almost opposite ends of the chamber as Onmund. A smoldering pile lay where the creature was. Bits of the dragon priest were flaking off into the air. Cooling as they went. 

“I'm out of magicka,” Mhanon breathed, his chest heaving. 

“Here,” Onmund offered his arm to help Mhanon walk over to pick up the staff that lay on the ground. 

It was over. No more fighting. No more fireballs, or fire atronachs, or fire. He let his bow vanish from his fingers. They made for the door. Mhanon smiled at them from Onmund’s shoulder. Rumarin couldn't help but smile back. Suddenly feeling very, very tired. 

All of his relief and elation came to a screeching halt as the door on the other end of the chamber opened revealing a figure in very familiar black and gold robes. A justiciar. The man walked closer, and Rumarin could see this agent likely reported to Ancano, judging by the number of gold stripes.

"So, you made it out of there alive.” The Thalmor addressed them all. “Ancano was right... you are dangerous."

“You’re working with him?!” Mhanon shouted, “You don't understand what Ancano is doing, this kind of magic is beyond him!”

“This kind of magic is beyond  _ men _ ,” he snarled. "I'm afraid I'll have to take that Staff from you now. Ancano wants it kept safe... oh, and he wants you dead. It's nothing personal.” The agent's fingers lit up with crackling blue energy. 

Onmund jumped in front of Mhanon as sparks flew from Thalmor's hands. Rumarin summoned his bow and fired. Arrow bouncing off the ward cast by the Thalmor. 

Onmund lay on the ground from shocks. Twitching as light flitted over his figure. Mhanon was on his knees next to him. Staff on the ground. Forgotten.

“AGH!” A throwing knife found its mark in the Thalmor's hand. 

“It's nothing personal,” Akhara mocked as she appeared behind them, storming towards the Thalmor. 

“Who in aetherius are you-” the Thalmor started. Akhara jumped forward, bringing her knee to his stomach. 

Akhara had the Thalmor on the ground. “Shut up elf!” she pinned his neck against the stone floor with her staff. “Ru, get Mhanon and Onmund out of here.” 

He nodded, slipping an arm under Onmund’s shoulders, helping Mhanon lift him off the floor. A sinking feeling in his stomach as they limped into the next room. 

“She’s going to kill him,” Mhanon said, not meeting his eyes. 

“He was going to kill  _ us _ ,” Rumarin said. 

“I just… wish we didn't have to.” 

He helped Mhanon set Onmund down in a more comfortable position. “You just killed a dragon priest,” Rumarin said. “How is this different?”

“That thing was undead. This man isn’t.” 

Rumarin pulled a Magicka potion from his pocket, handing it to Mhanon so he could heal Onmund with what little magicka he had left. “Hang on. I'll be right back,” Rumarin said, doubling back to where they'd left Akhara and the Justiciar. The sound of conversation reached his ears. He paused just before entering the chamber. 

“Where is she?” Akhara’s voice was hard. 

The Thalmor laughed, blood coating his lips. “As if I would tell some trifling mundane. If I knew where she was,” his lips pulled into a sinister sneer, “I would have kill-"

Rumarin knew what was going to happen before Akhara even raised her dagger. Her jaw set, her face wearing the same expression as when Silus had attacked them. He flinched as the blade found its way into the man’s temple. It was quiet for a breath. She sat there, her breathing heavy, still glaring down at the dead Thalmor on the floor. 

Rumarin cleared his throat. “You know, I heard the phrase never bring a dagger to a magic fight but… now you’re making me rethink everything.” 

Akhara jerked her head up to look at him, as if he’d startled her. She exhaled through her mouth, blowing a few stray curls out of her face. Her hands uncharacteristically shaky as she grabbed her staff from the ground, favoring her left leg as she stood. “For some reason, they never really expect me to stab them while they’re talking.” She scowled. “As if they think words can save them.” 

He swallowed, frowning as they walked back. Barely any light lit the way to the next chamber where Mhanon and Onmund were. Despite the rather brutal way he’d just seen her murder someone, he was worried for her. Not that he begrudged her murdering that justiciar at all, no, that man was insane, and trying to kill them. But she was rarely shaken by anything. He could only assume the person she had asked about to be her mother, but he really had no idea. 

“Hold still,” Mhanon’s brow furrowed as he pushed a hand against Onmund’s side. He didn’t like the way Onmund gazed up at Mhanon, the soft golden glow of the healing spell illuminating their faces as some kind of silent conversation passed between the two. Onmund gazed at Mhanon with a tired smile. 

Rumarin looked away. Ignoring the tugging feeling in his stomach. Heat traveled up to the tips of his ears. “So,” he cleared his throat. “Step one; kill the disembodied voice. Step two; obtain the staff of magnus. Step three; shove it down Ancano’s throat.” 

“I’m going to shove more than just that staff down his throat,” Akhara swore, brushing dirt off her pants.

“There's a joke there,” Rumarin started, but faltered at the unamused looks on their faces. “... But because we’re in such a dire situation, I’ll save it for later.” 

.***.

It only took them a day to get back to Winterhold. The sense that things had only gotten worse at the college spurring them on. And the sense of foreboding only grew the closer they got. 

Inigo stood outside near a small camp with Tolfdir and some other mages when they arrived at the town. Mhanon broke into a run as they approached, staff in one hand. Rumarin hung back as Akhara and Onmund walked ahead to the small encampment of lost looking college students. 

Inigo rushed forward, throwing his arms around Akhara and pulling her into a hug. “You survived the zombies!” 

“Is everyone alright?” Mhanon asked, looking around the encampment of mages. 

“Mirabel didn't make it,” Tolfdir said as Mhanon and Onmund approached. 

“What- what now?” 

"You're the one with the staff, my dear boy. If it can help us get inside the College, and reach Ancano, we'll have to hope there's a way to stop all this." 

Mhanon looked at the staff in his hands. His expression turning hard, and began walking towards the archway that led to the bridge of the College. He raised the staff, aiming it towards the swirling wind that surrounded the college, and cast. The barrier dissipating with a snap. 

.

.

.

It was silent inside the College. Save for the sound of wind whistling through the vacant halls. The collapsed body of some unfortunate mage lay just visible through a doorway. Another lay in the hall, as if they’d died trying to escape. Rumarin looked away. Something hot and angry settled in the pit of his stomach. How many students and professors had died from this? This was Ancano’s fault. All of this. 

The group inched towards the main hall, led by Mhanon and Tolfdir. The iron bars of the gate to the main room was bent and twisted, as if by heat. The eye of Magnus floated at the center of the room, slowly turning. The strange writing shifting as he looked at it. A dark figure stood on the other side, nearly obscured by the glowing blue light from the orb. 

“You've come for me, have you?” Ancano’s haughty voice broke the silence as they approached. “You think I don't know what you're up to? You think I can't destroy you?” Ancano’s face was pulled into a sinister smile as arcane energy arched further up his form. “I have the power to unmake the world at my fingertips, and you think you can do anything about it?” 

Tolfdir hurled a fireball towards the man. The explosion surrounding Ancano seemed to wrap around him the way fire wrapped around stone, leaving him completely unharmed. 

Ancano’s laughter echoed around the stone room. “I am beyond your pathetic attempts at magic. You cannot touch me!” The air flashed and green filled the room as the whole college shook. 

Akhara gripped his arm and pulled him behind a pillar just as another shockwave rocked the room. Rubble and bits of ceiling and dust rained down on them. “We kill this man and I swear I will find you another bottle of Honningbrew,” she said before taking off towards Ancano. 

“If you don’t, I will quit!” he yelled after her, nocking another arrow. 

Akhara lunged towards Ancano. Her staff reflecting off the ward the mage threw up at the last second. Even with Akhara’s every move distracting him, Ancano was not easy to hit. Rumarin frowned as they moved to the other side of the rotating orb, out of his sight. He moved along the wall until he had Ancano in his sight. “Stop moving!” 

“The Staff!” Tolfdir cried, “Use it on the Eye!” 

A shockwave sent Rumarin crashing to the ground. The eye of Magnus was glowing brighter. Whatever Mhanon did, it was speeding something up. He scrambled to his feet. Akhara picking herself up nearby. 

Ancano was on his knees near the center. Out of the corner of his eye, Inigo drew his bow.

Mhanon lowered the staff to his side. “Ancano, stop this!” 

Rumarin saw Ancano grin as he began to stand up. He drew another arrow. The string on his bow strained, his arm ached as he held it, waiting for Ancano to fully stand. 

Ancano raised a clawed hand, green light swirling around as he cast. “Enough!”

Rumarin swallowed. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried to let the arrow loose. But his muscles wouldn’t move. Akhara and Inigo stood, frozen on the other side of the hall. Onmund and Tolfdir both stuck, unmoving. If he could have sworn he would have. Instead the string of colorful phrases he had for Ancano stayed locked inside his head. 

The eye of Magnus kept turning. Bits of light peeking through the cracks along the writing as light flashed around the chamber from Mhanon casting. Light from the staff streaked through the room. 

Ancano towered over Mhanon. Sinister grin on his face. Mhanon took the staff, and swung it -the curved glowing end connecting with Ancano’s head- Ancano cried out in pain. 

The magical paralysis washed away. Leaving his muscles screaming. He let his shoulders relax slightly, still holding the arrow nocked in his bow. Somewhere, Akhara was laughing. 

Mhanon aimed the staff at Ancano again. “Now! Shoot him now!” 

His arrow let loose, finding Ancano’s shoulder. The wizard roared, lashing out with more blue fire. He shot again. This arrow sinking into Ancano’s stomach. Bloody. Mages. 

When it was done, Ancano lay dead at his feet. The echoes of footfalls bounced off the walls. Leaning against one of the pillars in the room for support, he watched as the air began to warp. 

Psijic monks appeared around the chamber. One walked up to Mhanon, who stood, half leaning on the staff of Magnus. Chanting filled the room. One of the members spoke to Mhanon briefly before turning to leave. The air warped once more. And the eye was gone. And the rest of them were left staring at the empty space in the middle of the room. 

Tolfdir came up to speak with Mhanon, who was still leaning on the staff. Onmund came up, limping slightly, offering to help. He watched as Onmund and Tolfdir helped maneuver Mhanon into a more comfortable sitting position while Tolfdir talked to him in hushed tones. His voice still carried around the empty stone chamber. 

Rumarin rubbed his shoulder, looking over to Akhara, leaning against one of the pillars, frowning as he noticed she wasn’t putting weight on her left leg, uncorking a red vial with her teeth and downing it in one go. 

The main door opened as the other mages and students came rushing in. Rumarin bristled at so many people crowding him at once. One of them, a teacher he assumed, briefly checked him over for wounds before hurrying over to where Onmund and Mhanon still sat. His ears were still ringing. He didn’t hear a word the older woman had said to him. 

After a few short minutes and Mhanon back on his feet, Tolfdir ushered them away, saying something about needing rest and “not to be disturbed”. Rumarin followed in a half haze. He couldn't resist giving the body of Ancano a swift kick as he walked out, following as they were led up the stairs. 

Onmund sank onto the bed while Inigo laid out on a bench. Akhara collapsed into a nearby chair and Mhanon sat on the floor with his head between his knees. Rumarin sat down in one of the chairs and waited for exhaustion to take him. 

.***.

When he woke up, Inigo was fast asleep on his bench. Onmund was snoring... loudly. He suspected he knew what had woken him up. Akhara had curled onto her side in the chair, her head resting on her arm. Eyes wide awake, staring off into nothing. 

There was a fire going in the fireplace off to the side now. He looked around the room, spotting Mhanon still sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the fire. Judging by the lack of light through the frosted windows, it was still very late. The three of them met each other's eyes for a moment, realizing they were the only ones awake. 

Rumarin let out a yawn. “Did I miss anything?” 

It was quiet before Mhanon spoke. “They made me Archmage.” 

Rumarin stared at Mhanon in shock. He knew there was a possibility, Onmund had said those who made it through labyrinthian were made archmage. But he’d thought it was an old practice. And he didn’t really believe anything Onmund said. Another particularly loud snore came from the nord. Also, he wondered, why wasn’t Onmund made archmage- no, no- the choice was obvious there. Mhanon was much smarter than Onmund, who had thrown himself in front of a lightning spell. 

“Who were those men, in the robes?” Akhara looked at Mhanon, head still resting on her arm, curled up in the chair. 

“The psijic order. We don’t really know much about them.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a psijic order?” Rumarin interrupted. “It’s where you go into a tavern, order two-hundred sweet rolls, and when the maid brings them over, you run.”

Akhara failed to stop a small smile from tugging at her cheeks. 

Mhanon laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. “I looked them up since we got back from Saarthal. They spoke to me again too, when I went to Mzulft. They’re an old and powerful order of mages. But they disappeared on the isle of artaeum in the second era. They reappeared five hundred years later, only to disappear again during the void nights.” Mhanon sighed. “There’s so much I don’t know…” 

“But your Archmage now,” Rumarin said, “which means no one can question you, ever.” 

“I don't think that's…” 

“That's completely how it is. Did you ever question Savos Aren? No. And look, did his advice ever lead you wrong?” 

“I guess…” Mhanon pulled at one of his braids, fingers nervously undoing and re-braiding the end. “Ancano is dead. Winterhold is safe now.”

“The first part being more enjoyable than the last I’ll admit.” Rumarin said.

“Wow, Ru,” Akhara laughed.

“It was never about revenge, it was about helping the college,” Mhanon frowned, still fiddling with his hair.

“Really? You mean to tell me you didn't enjoy it just a little?” 

Mhanon shook his head, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“Well, You’re a better mortal than I am.” 

“I didn't realize you held grudges so well,” said Akhara. "What did Ancano ever do to you? Besides be a prick? And the paralysis. And be a Thalmor."

“For one, he was a prick. So I'm not a mage. So what. At least  _ I'm _ still alive,” he grumbled.

“He’s the sensitive type,” Mhanon said to Akhara. 

Rumarin’s voice turned hard. “Oh yes, especially about my gangly figure and nirnroot collection,” he crossed his arms. “Mock that I'm liable to end up in tears.” He took a breath, letting tension drop from his shoulders. “But no, I guess there's just something about mage's like Ancano that really pestels my mortar. He reminds me of every mage who ever looked down on me for being a bladebinder.”

“What’s a blade-” Mhanon started before ending his question at Akhara’s shake of her head. Mhanon pursed his lips. “How did Ancano remind you of that?” 

“Not every high elf is destined to become a wizard. Just look at Ulundil. Although granted I'm partly to blame for that perception.”

“Why do you blame yourself for that?” asked Mhanon. “You can't help that you were born an Altmer. And that perception has been around a lot longer than you have.” 

“Not to mention there’s an entire genocidal group dedicated to that premise,” Akhara said darkly. 

“Well to be honest…” he frowned, looking away from Akhara. Something was bothering her, ever since she’d killed that Thalmor in labyrinthian. “I sometimes encourage people to think I'm a mage, it makes me feel better about myself.” 

“Rumarin…” Mhanon said softly. 

“Mostly with children, because they're easiest to fool. Which led to one of my more embarrassing moments.” He exhaled deeply before continuing. “I was showing a few children some jester tricks and of course they thought I was a mage. I was just about finished when another child came rushing towards me, crying her eyes out… her mother had been kidnapped by bandits. The other children told her not to worry. Rumarin the mage would come to the rescue.” He flicked an offending piece of dust off his robes. “Looking into their eyes, I didn't have the heart to say no.”

“You didn't tell them the truth?” 

“No,” he looked at her sadly, “I couldn't… they were just children.”

“And fighting these bandits is how you learned you were a warrior?” Mhanon asked. 

“No, quite the opposite. Which is why I… gathered up everything I had, and paid the ransom. It cost me everything I had, but I paid their price.” 

“That could not have been easy.”

“No it wasn't. That night I gathered up the rest of my things. They were as useless as I was. But when I got to the end, I found something I never knew was there. It was a gift from Otero. One last jester's trick.” He looked into the fire. “It was a spell tome for a bound sword, and I've relied on it ever since.”

“Why do you think Otero left the tome for you?” Mhanon asked. 

“Probably out of guilt. I’d wanted to be an adventurer ever since that day with bandits when I was young. But Otero was never willing to teach me how to fight.” The fire danced and swayed along the logs. If he stared long enough it almost looked like faces. “Maybe he thought it would make me too serious. Or maybe he just wanted to protect me. I suppose when he died, he realized that tome was the only way he could.”

“You never told me he’d died.” Akhara’s voice lifted him out of his reverie. 

“Yes, quite a few years ago now.” 

“Wait…” her head shot up, “is  _ this _ why you ended up in debt to those pirates? To Volf? For trading in coin for the girl's mother?” 

Rumarin nodded. 

“I didn't realize you had a heart, Ru,” Akhara said softly, half smiling over her arm as she stared into the fire. 

“Well it's small, and it doesn't like strangers but it does come out occasionally,” he quipped. “Alright, I told my embarrassing story. Who’s next?” 

“I think we just lived through my embarrassing story,” Mhanon said. “I just became the Archmage by floundering around some ruins.” 

“You did more than that.” 

“I just… Onmund was with, almost every step of the way. I don’t know why they didn’t-” 

“Pick him?” Rumarin glanced over at the sleeping nord. “Please. He only followed you because he likes you. They might as well have made me archmage.” 

“He’s not that bad,” Mhanon giggled and gazed over towards the bed where Onmund slept. Rumarin cleared his throat. Mhanon looked back to Akhara. “What about you? How did you end up in Skyrim of all places?” 

She blew a few stray curls out of her face, only for them to fall forward again. “I ended up in Skyrim... because the guild master in the Imperial City sent me as a liaison to the guild in Riften. We’d been having some more trouble as of late, and heard the same was true in Skyrim.” She looked at the pair of them over her folded arms. “I was also looking for my mother. Anyway, I was in Bruma chasing a lead. And I had been contracted by a Lord Dupan, to kill his siblings so he could inherit a fortune. Inigo was my partner on the job. He shot me.” She shrugged. “I was found by some locals. Spent over a week being healed at the chapel there.” 

“Wait wait, Inigo shot you? Our Inigo? Blue fur, about this tall? Sleeping over there?” Rumarin pointed. 

Akhara looked at him before pulling her hair back from her neck and turning her head, revealing a large scar disappearing into her hairline that he’d glimpsed on occasion before. That couldn't be right. Rumarin frowned. Inigo loved Akhara. 

“I don’t remember much of anything that month. I remember being contacted for the job, but after that it’s… hazy. My next memory is waking up in the Bruma Chapel."

“That’s not too bad then. You still remember everything else, right?” Rumarin glanced at Mhanon. Fear stirring up in his stomach as he wondered if Akhara had been operating solely on a few months' memory the entire time he’d known her. 

“Yes, I remember everything else.” She paused. “A woman took me in after that. Her husband was missing. A soldier. Once I was well enough, I offered to track him down. I've always been good at… finding people. Eventually I found his body in the Serpent's Trail. Along with… all sorts of notes about Ulfric's uprising. Stormcloak movements. Notes about how they thought Ulfric was going to try and cross the border. The Imperials and Thalmor knew and he was supposed to warn them. I couldn't just-” she ran her fingers through her hair, shaking out loose curls. 

“I don't care about the war. I just thought I owed it to that woman to finish her husband's job. So I snuck across the border. Sure enough, found the camp of stormcloaks. I couldn't even explain myself before the Imperials arrived. It was like they knew, somehow, like I'd led them there.

I was captured. Thrown in jail at Helgen. Helgen ended up being attacked by a dragon. I escaped. Found out I absorb some sort of essence from dragons after one attacked Whiterun. Managed to get to Riften to get some fucking message to Mercer Frey. He betrayed the guild. Here we are.” 

Rumarin and Mhanon stared at her. This was so much worse than he thought. Akhara had been the one to lead the Imperial troops to that ambush. 

“You're the dragonborn… aren't you,” Mhanon said. It wasn’t a question. 

“Let’s hope not,” she said. 

“Thank you, both of you,” Mhanon inclined his head. “Whatever your reasons.” A yawn escaped him. “We should sleep.” 

Rumarin rolled over in his chair, pulling a blanket over his shoulders. If she really was the dragonborn, and it wasn’t Ulfric, then sooner or later the Thalmor would start investigating. And when they found her, they would find him. Because he was supposed to be in Windhelm, watching Ulfric. Not that any of the local Thalmor stationed in Skyrim cared. He decided this was a problem he could deal with later, as he fell into a fitful sleep. Dreaming of Otero and his belly laugh. While someone threw apples at his head. 

.***.

The next few days passed in a blur. Mhanon had been whisked away by the other senior mages the next morning. Apparently there was a lot for him to learn, and not just about magic. Akhara had given the rubbing to Enthir. Who had said it would probably take a week for him to translate the damned thing. 

He was getting a little sick of being around the mages all day long. In particular, Onmund. Who seemed to never leave Mhanon’s side. Sitting in the dining hall, he had seen Mhanon reach over and ruffle Onmund’s hair, while the two smiled about something. He finally got fed up and went to find Akhara and Inigo for some excuse to leave the college for something to do, because he knew she was finding odd jobs to do. It wasn’t like either of them could sit still either. 

She was talking to the conjuration master when he found them. Inigo watched from a distance, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. His tail twitching back and forth. An angry voice came from the room next to him. 

"No, no no no. This can't be happening."

“What are you talking about?” she said. “Just buy another.” 

"No! It can't be lost. It just can't! It's irreplaceable, do you understand? Without it, I cannot finish my work. All these years, so much time, so much energy... You must find it! It cannot end this way! Not after I've worked so hard!" 

“I need to know  _ what  _ I am looking for.” 

"It... It's very valuable. Critical to my work, and one-of-a-kind. That's all I care to say for now." 

“Did you even tell Enthir how valuable this thing was? So he might have entrusted it to more than just a courier?” 

"Have you lost your mind? Think, please, just for a moment, about what he would do if he knew its true value. Do you really believe he would honor our agreement, or go running off to the highest bidder? Please, you must set this right. I'm begging you."

Akhara held out her hand. Arniel gave her a scathing look before dropping a bag of coin into it and shutting the door to his study. She turned around, taking in the sight of him waiting next to Inigo. A knowing smile on her face. “Are you bored?” 

“How did you guess?” 

“It’s something about your face. You want to help us track down a courier from Morrowind?” 

“Gods, anything. I’m losing my mind listening to these mages talk about ‘planar overlays’ and whatever else.”

Inigo laughed. 

.***.

They headed out. Snow crunching beneath their boots as they followed the main road into eastmarch towards Morrowind. 

He was dying to ask her about why she had interrogated that Thalmor in labyrinthian. And who she thought they were keeping locked up. But there hadn't been a moment where they’d been alone. Since defeating Ancano, they’d either been surrounded by other mages asking them questions when Mhanon wasn’t around. He supposed he could always broach the subject on the road when Inigo was around. But there was something about her demeanor in the ruins, the sheer hatred with which she’d killed that justiciar, that he was reluctant to bring it up at all. 

An innkeep told them rumors of a caravan that had been attacked along the road. Claiming stolen goods from Morrowind. It was a half day’s walk once they passed Windhelm. There was a caravan. Abandoned. The wagon lay on its side, half covered in snow. The goods looked pretty picked over. It appeared to have been ransacked several days ago. The bodies still frozen in the snow. 

“So, he didn’t tell you what this item was, but we’re looking for it anyway?” 

“No. Besides this is just to kill some time.” 

“Still,” said Inigo, “how on Nirn are we supposed to know what it is when we see it?” 

Akhara shrugged her shoulders, “he already paid.” 

“Ugh, then why are we here?” Rumarin whined. He picked through the frozen purse from one of the bodies. Pulling out a note, addressed to Enthir. “Hey, this must be the poor sod who Enthir hired.” 

“Is there anything else on him?” 

“There’s just a dagger,” Rumarin lifted the satchel holding the dagger shaped object that was wrapped in a simple cloth. 

“What on Nirn?” Akahra pulled the dagger from the cloth, the moment her hand gripped the handle she gasped and doubled over, dropping it into the snow. Gold and dwemer brass held onto the clear almost blue blade. 

“What's wrong?” 

“It…” Akhara just shook her head, and carefully knelt down to pick it up again. This time holding onto the handle, “Don’t you hear it?” 

Rumarin raised both eyebrows, unsure whether to step closer or back away. They should have learned to not piss with magical daggers by now. 

“No,” Akhara held the dagger up to her ear, and then out to him, “listen.”

He and Inigo stepped closer, leaning in. It was… humming. Almost. 

“If this isn’t what that man is after, I will eat my tail,” Inigo said. 

.***.

"The dagger...? By Akatosh, they didn't even wrap it correctly? You didn't touch it did you? Well no, of course you must have! Did you attempt to wield it? And you're not dead? Gods, it's a wonder it's in one piece!" 

Rumarin and Inigo exchanged a look while Arniel turned away holding the dagger. 

“Is this what you needed? You have everything now?” Akhara gestured to the dagger. 

“I do... I do indeed. Keening is finally in my possession. I don't think I really believed this day would come.” 

Akhara took a step back. “What!?” 

“All this for a dagger,” Rumarin said. “You know it always amazes me the things we go through for daggers.” 

“This is not just a dagger!” Arniel rounded on him. Holding the dagger in the cloth with both hands and though it were a newborn child. “This is a dwarven artifact beyond nearly all value. A singular instrument of immense power, a tool of impossible import. Keening, and its counterpart, Sunder. Used by the tonal architects of the Dwemer to tap into the Heart of Lorkhan. Now we see whether my theories are correct.” Arniel continued rambling, only half speaking to them. He held the dagger, and in a quick motion, hit it against a soul gem that rested on a pedestal in his office. 

Rumarin looked around, frowning. Arniel began to hit the soul gem again, and again. Each time angrily exclaiming, louder and louder. 

"Work, damn you!" 

White light blinded him. Rumarin squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his face before opening them again. Arniel was gone. The dagger still on the floor. 

“That bloody kwama,” Akhara swore, standing up from her crouched position. 

“Um, where did he go?” Rumarin’s fingers gripped the side of the doorway, as he peered further into the room. 

“He’s gone. Whether he’s where the dwemer went or… He succeeded in doing something similar, at least. Which means it  _ is  _ possible.” 

“You're starting to worry me,” Inigo said. “I know the adventurer life isn't perfect, but I can't imagine research like this is worth it.” 

"I agree with Inigo. This man was insane."

Akhara was silent for a long time, starting at the place where Arniel had been. “No…” she said, “you're right.” 

“I am? I mean, I am. You know what I’m also right about, we should leave. Before anyone connects Arniel’s disappearance to us. And by us, I mean you.” 

A creak sounded behind them, all three turned to see Enthir exiting his room. He paused, taking in the sight of the three of them standing outside Arniels room. “What was that noise?” 

“Nothing.” 

Entire raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question further. “Meet me at the inn in an hour. I’ve sent a message to Karliah. She’ll meet us there.” 

.***.

Rumarin stood in the library. Figures he would find Mhanon here, surrounded by open books and charts. He didn’t see Onmund. But he didn’t mind. 

“Well, we’re off to go face the thieves guild and reveal that the current leader is a backstabbing land dreugh. I'll be back. Provided we don't die.”

“You had better not.” Mhanon smiled up at him before he stood on his toes and quickly kissed him on the cheek. 

Heat rushed to his ears. “Right, well um… I’ll be back, or going, I guess… but I will be back.”

.***.

.

.

.

Rumarin leaned against the wood wall of the inn. Half listening to what Enthir had to say about Gallus’ journal, half wondering why this was surprising to anyone. Mercer seemed exactly like the kind of person who would kill their partner and frame the other. 

“it’s intriguing, but highly disturbing. It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey's allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an ‘unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures’.”

"Does the journal say where this wealth came from?"

"Yes. Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge."

"Anything else, Enthir? Anything about... the Nightingales?"

"Hmm. Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe 'the failure of the Nightingales' although it doesn't go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher."

"Shadows preserve us. So it's true..."

"I'm not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it? What's Mercer Frey done?"

"I'm sorry Enthir, I can't say. All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately. Farewell, Enthir... words can't express..."

"It's alright Karliah. You don't have to say a word." Enthir pulled Karliah aside and handed her the journal. 

.

.

.

"We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do any more damage to the Guild.” Karliah stepped out into the cold Winterhold street with the rest of them. 

"What’s a ‘Twilight Sepulcher’?" Rumarin asked, hoisting his pack up onto his shoulder. 

Karliah regarded him with keen eyes. "You've come this far, so I see no harm in concealing it any longer. The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple to Nocturnal. It's what the Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives."

"Why does a daedric temple require protection?" Akhara asked. 

Karliah shook her head. "Everything that represents Nocturnal's influence is contained within the walls of the Sepulcher. Now it seems Mercer's broken his oath with Nocturnal and defiled the very thing he swore to protect."

"I never would have taken you for the religious type,” Inigo said. 

"I felt the same way when Gallus first revealed these things to me. I think given time, you'll understand what I mean."

Akhara scoffed. "I'd understand better if there was less mystery involved."

"As a Nightingale, I've been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I know the Guild doesn't do much to foster faith, but I'm going to have to ask that you continue to trust me."

Akhara nodded. 

"I'll make for Riften and scout the situation; see if I can discover what Mercer's up to. Meet me at the Ragged Flagon.” 

“We’ll meet you in Riften.” 

.

.

.

.***.

They made it to Windhelm without issue. If you could count having to huddle together while resting to stave off the cold and running out of food the day before _ no issue _ . Rumarin had come to the conclusion that Akhara was probably the second least pleasant person to be around when she got hungry. Second to him. He wasn’t sure how Inigo managed to tolerate either of them. After a full day with nothing to eat and only melted snow to quench their thirst they were all rather irritable. There wasn't even a stray goat or rabbit on the road from Winterhold to Windhelm. They had decided to go straight south instead of the long way around that went by the Nightgate Inn. Purely because it was a day faster, but through the snowy mountains and more dangerous route since Akhara had  _ insisted. _ He pointed this out. The argument that followed didn’t make him any less hungry. 

Finally, they reached the docks of Windhelm. Snagging a few fish off a rack when no one was looking and eating as they walked through the city to the inn. It was disgusting. Even if it had been hanging over a fire to cook. But he was too hungry to care. 

Crossing the lower market place in the grey quarter he noticed a dark elf woman hovering by one of the buildings. He averted his gaze and walked a little faster, hoping no one would come up and talk to him. And she started moving. Rumarin groaned internally as she walked up to him, hands clasped at her chest and head bowed so he could barely make out her lips. The syllables coming out of her mouth made less sense than a draugr on sleeping tree sap. He shifted and shuffled his feet. Not quite sure what the poor girl was saying. 

“Ah… sorry I don't, I don't understand.” He took a step back from the girl, not wanting to cause a scene. She looked up at him then, her brow furrowed in confusion. She looked so… sad. 

Akhara stepped up next to him then. Looking at the girl she started speaking in strange, halting sentences. Words falling off her tongue like it was a bad sweetroll. And… was that… dunmeri? Was she  _ speaking _ dunmeri? 

The dunmer girl inclined her head in thanks and shuffled off. Throwing Akhara a look of genuine gratitude over her shoulder. 

“You speak dunmeri?” Rumarin directed at her, “this whole time I thought you were just being negative but you mean to tell me every time you went ‘gah’ it wasn’t an exclamation of disgust but you saying ‘yes’?” 

“Gah,” she smiled at him, “just kidding. Yes, my father was a dark elf. Well not my birth father but the man who raised me.” 

“This is the same man who taught you to use swords and a polestaff?” Inigo laughed. “Were you raised by assassin’s too?” 

She shook her head. “He was with the fighters guild. I picked up a few phrases here and there. Nothing fluent, but enough to sound like a stupid toddler probably.” 

“Wow that’s impressive. I once taught myself how to shuffle a deck of cards. It’s even less impressive when you consider I was a grown elf.”

“Your parents were troubadours and you were a jester, and you can’t shuffle cards?”

“So? Not every jester can shuffle cards. Just like how not every high elf is a mage. Really, Akhara, I feel like we’ve already had this conversation.”

.

.

.

.***.

They spent the night in Windhelm and stocked up on food before heading to Whiterun. This time, they rented a horse and took a lot more food than they themselves could carry. Hence the horse. 

It was also, largely at Rumarin’s insistence. They’d argued about it but Rumarin won out in the end, after reminding her that the journey from Windhelm to Riften didn’t really have any inn’s or stores on the way, and that if he went hungry  _ this _ time because of her crazy need to avoid civilization on the off chance they should run into a thieves guild member, he would never shut up about it again. 

Ulundil had agreed to let them rent the horse, on the condition that  _ this _ one actually made it back to him. Since their track record with horses seemed to end up with them getting lost. Inigo and Akhara were loading up the horse when Arivanye caught his eye from the door of the house, motioning for him to come over. 

Arivanye waited until they were out of earshot, sliding a letter out of her sleeve. “This came for you.” 

Rumarin took the letter, already grimacing at the familiar looking envelope. 

Arivanye grabbed his wrist, her grip tight. Her gaze was fierce. “I know your business is your own. But don’t get Ulundil and I caught up in this.” She let go of his wrist. 

He swallowed, nodding as she stiffly straightened her skirts and went back inside. Sliding a finger along the edge, he opened the letter, keeping his back to the stables. It was only one line. 

_ Report to Rulindil.  _

The paper crinkled as he balled it into his fist. Tossing it into a nearby brazier. Great. Just great. They wanted him to go to Solitude? And report on any findings about Ulfric… about the dragonborn. And he had fuck all to tell them. He supposed he could tell them that Ulfric was the dragonborn. That he had killed a dragon at Helgen, that he had shouted. But the Thalmor likely knew that already. Shit. What if Ancano had told them something. He knew what his options were. Go to them and tell the truth. Go to them and lie. Or his other option, avoid them altogether. 

He watched as Akhara scooped up some snow into a ball before throwing it at Inigo’s back. The two of them began tossing half formed snowballs back and forth outside the stables. No, he couldn't go and tell them the truth. If he went to them at all. 

His sour mood persisted through most of the trip to Riften. Inigo and Akhara noticed. Sending him worried glances every now and then as they walked along the road. Slogging through mud from the heavy rain and snow that followed them the entire way did nothing to lift his spirits. Did he trust them enough to tell them about the Thalmor? He thought back to the look on Akhara’s face when she’d killed that Justiciar in labyrinthian. No, he decided he didn't quite trust them that much. He did, however, trust them to kill any other Thalmor they came across. He would just have to make sure that any Thalmor died before they could give him away. That would work, right? When had avoiding a problem ever not turned out in his favor… 

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *adds lots of fireballs in this chapter because mages*. Also me: what if rumarin was afraid of fire but trying to hide it for reasons!?!thalmor spy reasons!?  
I hope you’re all doing okay! Thank you for following along so far <3 This chapter ended up being longer than anticipated. Tune in next time for Akhara’s pov; flirting with Brynjolf, killing Mercer Frey, and making creepy deals with daedra!


	12. Looking in all the right places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killing Mercer Frey, handing a daedric artifact to the last person on Nirn who should have it, and jumping in some lakes. Warning for typical violence, and mention of panic attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first POV change. The POV will always be listed in italics just after the chapter title. If it ever changes during a chapter- I will mark it in a similar way so it’s obvious.

.***.

Looking in all the <strike> wrong </strike> right places

.***.

_ Akhara _

.

.

.

.***.

Her eyes squinted against the sunlight reflecting off the snow as they walked. Snow had chased them the entire way to Riften. She pulled the fur of her hood closer, trying to block the biting wind. If this was what winter in Skyrim was like, she would be on the next carriage to Cyrodiil. She suspected Rumarin was considering that too. He’d barely said a word as they approached the border of Eastmarch and the Rift. Neither she nor Inigo knew what was wrong with the bladebinder. It was oddly silent while they walked. Only the sound of their feet in the snow, and their breath in the air. Without the usual jokes and songs… she missed telling him to be quiet. 

The trees in the rift were covered in frost. Almost like they’d been frozen in time. Their leaves still hanging onto the ice covered branches. It was oddly comforting to see the walls of Riften. Even if their every move through the city was being watched. A door slammed as soon as they entered the inn. She spent the next hour glancing over her shoulder the entire time they warmed up by the fire. Maybe it wasn't _ that _ comforting. 

Rumarin rubbed the tips of his ears in front of the fire. The warm glow making his already golden skin an even deeper shade. He sat facing slightly away from the fire, she noticed. Even when trying to get warm, he positioned himself so he wasn't looking directly at it. 

She moved between him and the fireplace, her left leg stiff from the cold. Her hand brushing against his arm before gently elbowing him to move over. He glanced up, both hands still rubbing his ears, and slid over. She sat down, pretending to ignore the way his shoulders relaxed. Inigo shook his head with a purr, shaking loose snow that clung to his fur, scooting closer to the fire, waiting for the snow on his whiskers to melt. She sank further down in her chair, letting the heat thaw her frozen limbs. 

.***.

The water in the canal was half frozen. The snow that collected on the wooden planks above was covered in so much dirt it looked black. Karliah emerged from the shadows to the ratways. Agreeing it was best that Akhara lead, just in case the guild tried to kill Karliah first and ask questions later. 

Her staff had a worn area from her thumb running over it and at this rate she was going to run a hole right through the wood. It did little to calm her nerves as they crept through the ratways, knowing what, or rather, who, was waiting once they got to the ragged flagon.

“It’s good to see you again, Rumarin,” Karliah spoke softly from behind her. 

“Is it?” he said. 

“I thought after what happened in Winterhold, you might have stayed.” 

“Yes, well, I guess I feel more at home with thieves than mages.” 

Karliah let out a quiet chuckle. “Gallus was like that, too.” 

Akhara glanced back at them. Rumarin’s frown half hidden by his hood. Not sure if he was upset with the comparison to a dead man, or the fact Karliah thought he was a mage. She wished she could tell what thoughts were going through his head. He was normally much easier to read. When he wasn’t brooding. But the change in attitude from when they left Windhelm left her second guessing how much he was hiding. Light reflected off Inigo’s eyes and she realized she wasn’t the only one eavesdropping on their conversation. 

Dirge glared at them from his usual spot, guarding the dimly lit entrance to the flagon, catching her eye as they approached. She stared him down head on as they passed. Wishing she could wipe the scowl off his face with her staff. Vekel wiped down the bar with a rag, watching their slow parade through the bar. Only a few other patrons sat at the tables in shadowy corners. None she knew. Delvin and Vex were nowhere to be seen. 

The guild knew they were coming. She wondered just how many of them had gathered in the cistern. Either to watch, or because they thought there would be a fight. 

Her hand hesitated on the door to the cistern as she bit her cheek. Karliah nodded at her silent question. Her grip tightened on her staff. Ingio’s ears stood alert, silently drawing his sword. Just in case. She looked at Rumarin, something dark crossed his expression before he pulled a dagger from his sleeve. She swung the door open. 

.

.

.

"You better have a damn good reason to be here with that murderer." Brynjolf stood there, blade drawn, flanked by Delvin and Vex. Her chest tightened at the sight. 

“Hello to you too. Glad to see you’re not dead,” she said through gritted teeth. 

"Please,” Karliah spoke, placing a gentle hand on her arm as she stepped in front of her, “lower your weapons so we can speak. I have proof that you've all been misled!"

Brynjolf looked from her to Karliah. "No tricks, Karliah or I'll cut you down where you stand. Now what's this so-called proof you speak of?"

"I have Gallus's journal, along with a translation. I think you'll find its contents disturbing."

"Let me see.” Karliah held the thin book out for Brynjolf. The rest of them waiting in tense silence. He thumbed through the pages, before coming to the last entry. “No, it... can't be. This can't be true. I've known Mercer too long..."

Akhara scoffed. Drawing Brynjolf's eyes back to her. 

"It's true, Brynjolf,” said Karliah, “every word. Mercer's been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses."

Brynjolf shut the book, tucking it into his back pocket. "There's only one way to find out if that’s true. Delvin, I'll need you to open the Vault.”

She heard Rumarin give a derisive snort from behind her. 

Delvin stepped back, narrowing his eyes. "Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn. What's in that book? What did it say?"

"It says Mercer's been stealing from our vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered."

“And didn’t you do that?” Vex directed at Karliah. 

“I would never have hurt Gallus,” Karliah said vehemently. 

“Mercer lied,” Akhara took a step forward, putting herself between Vex and Karliah, glaring down at the imperial woman. “He probably also told you I was dead, and a traitor. Who are you going to believe, Vex? Mercer, a known prick? Or the only person who actually got shit done around here for once?” 

“Alright, calm down,” Brynjolf held out an arm in front of Vex, her lips pulling into a snarl. He shot her a look clearly saying _ Stop it _. But she was too frustrated to care. Amatures, the lot of them. 

"How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys without one of us?” Delvin said. “It's impossible." 

"That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy,” said Vex, shrugging Brynjolf off and following Delvin to the vault. “There's no way it can be picked open."

Akhara hung back a few steps, letting Karliah past her as they walked across the cistern. Glancing around the cistern she saw various thieves waiting in the shadows. Most with weapons drawn. Inigo’s hand came up to squeeze her shoulder before letting go. Rumarin hung back, inspecting his fingernails as the rest gathered near the vault. 

She walked forward, careful not to step within arm's length of either Vex or Delvin. Brynjolf leaned down, unlocking the vault. The heavy iron door scraped against the uneven stone floor as they pushed it wide. The room beyond it empty. 

"By the Eight! It's gone, everything's gone!” 

"The gold, the jewels... it's all gone."

"That son-of-a-bitch! I'll kill him!"

"Vex! Put it away... right now. We can't afford to lose our heads... we need to calm down and focus."

"Do what he says, Vex. This isn't helpin' right now."

"Delvin, Vex... watch the Flagon. If you see Mercer, come tell me right away.” Brynjolf turned to Karliah. 

Akhara ignored them, leaning on the guild masters desk and crossing her arms. There had to be something Mercer had left behind. Either here or at his house. Of course, Brynjolf had been here with Mercer the entire time. He should have paid more attention. Eventually, Karliah broke off from Brynjolf and wandered to another part of the cistern. Leaving her alone with the red-haired nord outside the vault. 

Brynjolf sighed, rubbing his temples with his hand. "I'm… glad you're alive.” 

"Yeah, me too."

“I hate to ask this but, I need you to break into Mercer's home and search for anything that could tell us where he's gone."

"I'll take care of it."

"Be careful, lass. This is the last place in Skyrim I'd ever want to send you. Just find a way in, get the information, and leave. And you have permission to kill anyone that stands in your way."

“I don’t need your _ permission _,” she snapped. 

“Aye,” Brynjolf sighed, “I know you don’t.” He ran a hand through his red hair. "How did you survive? Mercer told us Karliah was at the ruin, but when he said he was forced to kill you…" 

Akhara glanced across the cistern to where Rumarin sat on an upturned crate, talking to Inigo, voices too low for her to hear. "Does it matter?" 

"I searched for you, lass. None of us wanted to believe what Mercer told us."

"But you did."

"Aye,” Brynjolf eyed at her sadly, “I suppose I did."

"Well, then, we really have nothing to talk about." She stood, making to leave. “I’ll make sure to ransack Mercer’s place. If it takes longer than expected, do make sure not to brand me as a traitor this time.” Brynjolf's response was lost to the echo in the cistern as she stormed away, heading over to where Inigo and Rumarin were waiting. 

Inigo’s whisker twitched as she approached. “You look…” Inigo wiggled his nose, trying to find the word. 

“Angry? Vengeful? Tired of being in a room full of people who want to start a fight?” Rumarin offered. 

“I was going to say exasperated,” Inigo finished. 

She exhaled, blowing a few curls out of her face. “I’m going to break into Mercer’s house,” she started.

“His house? What if Mercer’s there? And he stabs you-again?” Rumarin added. “Not that I don’t think you're capable of killing him. But I’m feeling a little vengeful too. I want to stab someone. This whole thing has taken years off my life. I probably look like I’m in my thirties now.” 

“You poor thing,” sighed Inigo. 

.***.

.

.

.

Inigo watched the front of Mercer’s house, on high alert to whistle if he saw any guards coming. They weren’t exactly certain if Maven favored the guild, or Mercer. But they weren’t going to take any chances. The idiot Mercer had guarding the gate however, was a different story. 

“Please, Vald?” She leaned against the gate, forcing a smile. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

_ While I strangle you. _

“You ain't got enough coin to make my problems go away," Vald spat. "You try and set one foot in this yard, and I'll cut it off,” he growled before walking back up to the house. The metal gate creaked as she kicked it. 

Rumarin laughed behind her. She whipped around, fixing him with an icy glare. “Sorry, it’s just I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the word ‘please’ before,” he grinned. 

“You try him, then.” 

Rumarin didn’t move, his grin only getting wider. What an ass. 

“Ugh, fine,” she crossed her arms and leaned against the moss covered wall. “Please?” 

“Was that so terribly hard?” 

She grumbled under her breath, and moved so she was out of sight from the gate. 

“Hey, Vald?” Rumarin called up to the house. “Mercer needs you in Markarth right away! It’s something important!” 

“I can’t just leave,” Vald called down, “I'm supposed to watch his house. What do I do?”

“Oh, I’ll watch it for you. Don’t worry, Mercer’s a cousin.” 

“Here,” Vald fumbled with a key, unlocking the gate and shoving the key into Rumarin’s open hand. “Hang on to the key and don't let anyone in!” 

They watched Vald’s form disappear into the alley. She stared after him, open mouthed. How in Oblivion had that worked? “Do you just bullshit your way through problems like this?” 

“Mostly,” he shrugged, “but only when people are stupid enough for it to work.” Rumarin held the gate open as she walked in. “Great,” he looked around the empty yard, “now how do we get inside?” 

“There,” she pointed at the mechanical contraption underneath the door to the second floor. “We have to shoot it.” 

“We?” Rumarin raised his eyebrows at her. His stupid, shit eating grin back on his face. 

She took a deep breath, “Will you shoot it?” 

“Will I shoot it… please?” 

“You only get one please.”

“Okay, I guess you’ll manage to hit it yourself then.” They both knew full well she could not. She didn't even have a bow. 

She stared up at the dark sky, the gods certainly hated her tonight. “Rumarin,” she lowered her voice, “will you _ please _ shoot that door mechanism to Mercer’s house, so I can get inside and stab someone?” 

A blue arrow streaked by, hitting the gears. The ramp falling with a clank. 

.***.

Akhara stared down at the two thugs on the floor of Mercer Frey’s room. They'd taken out both of them easily. The blue glow from Rumarin’s bound sword cast another set of shadows around the room. There wasn’t much inside the house. The first floor nearly as plain as the second. 

“The gods gave you two hands, and you use them both for your weapon. The gods gave me ten fingers, but I never seem to need more than one,” he twirled his bound sword with a small flourish.

“Yet you use both of your hands to fire a bow,” she frowned at him. 

“I don’t have to though. I can fire it with my feet. Leaving my hands free to do this,” he held up a rude symbol with his free hand.

“If I ever see you fire a bow with your feet-” she started, trying to imagine in what scenario he had discovered that ability.

“Pray you never do,” he said solemnly. 

She rolled her eyes and cracked open the front door. Giving a quick whistle to let Inigo know they’d made it. The shadows near the door moved. Inigo slipped in before closing the door behind him. 

“So, find anything exciting?” Inigo said once inside. 

“Not yet, other than Ru can apparently fire a bow with his feet,” she wrinkled her nose. “Which is more disgusting than exciting.” 

“To leave your hands free to perform rude gestures?” Inigo smiled, raising his middle finger. 

“See, he gets it!” 

.

.

.

The basement held even more thugs than the house itself. Figures, that Mercer Frey’s home would connect with part of the ratways. She brushed away some cobwebs from a bookshelf with the end of her staff. The secret room Mercer had left his plans in seemed like it had been hastily ransacked, the chair overturned. Books were torn and left open ended on the floor. Along with a few crumpled papers on the desk. One depicting a large falmer statue, and notes about some jewels that were said to reside in an old dwemer ruin. 

“Did you read this note?” Rumarin held up a paper, “Mercer was colluding with someone who’s name starts with ‘R’. Do we know anyone whose name starts with the letter ‘R’?” 

“If this is your way of telling me you were working with Mercer the whole time, I swear, on Akatosh, I don’t know what I’ll do to you.” 

Rumarin scoffed. “Please, I would never work with Mercer. The man has absolutely no sense of humor. Now, if I had an evil twin or something, maybe.” 

“Do you have a twin?” Inigo’s ears perked up. 

“Oh, no, I’m an only child.” 

Inigo looked at her with a confused expression on his face. She shrugged and shook her head, hiding a smile. As annoying as Rumarin could be, she’d missed his sarcasm. 

.

.

.

.***.

Akhara smacked the papers and notes down on the desk in front of Brynjolf, causing him to jump slightly as he looked up. “He’s going after the eyes of the Falmer.” 

"Shor's beard!” he gathered the notes in his hands, flipping through them. “That was Gallus's pet project. If he gets his hands on them, you can be certain he'll be gone for good, and set up for life."

"Then we kill him before he does."

"Agreed. He's taken everything the Guild has left, and to go after one of the last greatest heists is just an insult. I've spoken to Karliah, and made amends for how the Guild's treated her.” 

Akhara said nothing. _ Of course, Brynjolf, make amends to Karliah for how she's been treated. Don’t worry about me. It’s not like you branded me a traitor just like her _. 

Karliah joined them at Mercer’s old desk. "Brynjolf, the time has come to decide Mercer's fate. Until a new Guild Master is chosen, the decision falls to you."

"Aye, lass... I've come to a decision. Mercer Frey tried to kill both of you, he betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus and made us question our future. He needs to die."

"We have to be very careful, Brynjolf. Mercer is a Nightingale, an Agent of Nocturnal."

"Then it's all true... everything I heard in the stories. The Nightingales, their allegiance to Nocturnal and the Twilight Sepulcher."

"Yes. That's why we need to prepare ourselves and meet Mercer on equal footing. Just outside of Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate is a small path cut up the mountainside. If you’ll follow me, I’ll try to explain along the way.” 

.***.

.

.

.

Akhara only half listened as Brynjolf threw question after question at Karliah as they walked along the path out of the city. Inigo walked next to her, with Rumarin following closely behind. 

“Are you sure it is okay that we are here?” Inigo whispered. 

She shrugged. Karliah hadn’t said anything when they’d followed her, so why should she care? The more people to fight Mercer, the better. As long as she got to kill him. 

They came upon a large standing stone, wider than she was tall. A dark symbol of a bird burned onto its surface. Karliah moved aside some brush, revealing a door set into the rockface, and pushed it open. 

"This is the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the mountainside by the first of our kind. You are the first uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century,” Karliah said, glancing back at Inigo and Rumarin. Both of whom were staring around the room in awe. Akhara folded her arms across her chest. It seemed like an empty cave to her. 

“So this is Nightingale hall,” Inigo said, hands on his hips. “I expected more singing birds.” 

“Why do they call you Nightingales? You don’t sing. You’re thieves. Or am I missing something?” Rumarin mused, looking around at the ceiling like he could find the answers written there. 

Karliah sighed. “If the two of you could wait here, I’ll show you to the armory,” she gestured for Akhara to follow her. 

.

.

.

She pulled the dark armor on, brushing her fingers over the gauntlets. It looked like leather, but it felt soft… almost like velvet, or feathers, and more form fitting than what she was used to. Karliah disappeared down another hall, saying she’d be back shortly. Brynjolf stood with the armor still in his hands, glancing up at her with an expression she knew meant he wouldn't change until she was out of the room. 

She walked back around the corner to the main room, finding Rumarin yawning while leaning against the wall and Inigo walking around the room muttering to himself. “There is no decor, nothing shiny. Not even a rug in sight. Where is the appeal?” 

“Maybe they were going for more of a beggar thief vibe? Not that that look is ever good on anyone,” Rumarin said. 

Inigo spied her as she entered, before smiling and jokingly whistling. “I change my mind. The Nightingales have great fashion sense.” 

“Are you two done gossiping?” 

Rumarin turned, eyebrows raising as he took note of the armor. “Hey, do you think I could borrow that armor? You know, to have a friend make copies and sell them for gold.” 

Akhara turned, one hand on her hip. “I think you mean, ‘could you borrow this Nightingale armor, _ please _’ and, would we get to keep some of this gold?” 

“Well, yes,” he rubbed at his chin, “that’s usually how forgery works.” 

“Then sure,” she shrugged. “After we kill Mercer.” 

“After we kill Mercer,” he nodded. 

“You’re ready?” Karliah came up, nodding at her. “Once I open the gate, please stand on the western circle. You two should stay back,” she said, glancing at Rumarin and Inigo. 

“No argument there,” Rumarin said, “I don’t want to seem cowardly, or like I want nothing to do with daedra, but, well…I don’t.” 

Inigo crossed his arms. She heard him mumble as they walked away, “Inigo, wait here. No Inigo, you can’t watch us summon the Nightingale daedra lady.” 

"Okay, lass,” Brynjolf came back from around the corner, fully outfitted in his new armor. “We've got these getups on... now what?"

"Beyond this gate is the first step in becoming a Nightingale."

"Woah there, lass. I appreciate the armor, but becoming a Nightingale? That was never discussed."

"To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we must have Nocturnal at our backs. If she's to accept you as one of her own, an arrangement must be struck."

“What sort of arrangement? I need to know the terms."

Akhara didn’t want to agree with Brynjolf, but she felt the same. Entering into a deal with Daedra almost never worked out in mortals favors. She should know. 

"The terms are quite simple. Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale and use your abilities for whatever you wish. And in return, both in life and in death, you must serve as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher."

Akhara frowned. Feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up. How exactly would that work if Hircine already laid claim on her soul? 

"Aye, there's always a catch. But at this point, I suppose there isn't much to lose. If it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in."

“How does this work?” Akhara watched Karliah from under her hood. 

“You're initiates now. Once you walk the pilgrim's path, you’ll be a fully fledged Nightingale and will be allowed to drink from the Ebonmere, and receive powers granted by Nocturnal.” 

“And if we don’t want those powers?” 

“Well, no one is forcing you. But it won’t matter if we don’t defeat Mercer.” 

Akhara pursed her lips, but nodded. Following Karliah beyond the gate and into the round chamber. They each stood on smaller pedestals that branched off from the main one in the center of the room. 

Karliah spoke. "I call upon you Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow... hear my voice." 

Cold seeped into the room. She felt gooseflesh rise on her arms. The dark seemed to shift. As if shadows could move. Coalescing on the floor in the center of the pedestal, the dark seemed to grow, as if it took on shape. Before it became feathers. Hundreds of black feathers littered the floor, some swirling up before floating away, leaving behind the silhouette of a woman, with long dark hair. Raven’s perched upon her shoulders. Two points of dark, purple light where the eyes should be. "Ah, Karliah. I was wondering when I'd hear from you again. Lose something did we?"

"My Lady, I've come before you to throw myself upon your mercy and to accept responsibility for my failure."

"You're already mine, Karliah. Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?"

"I have two others that wish to transact the Oath; to serve you both in life and in death."

Strong choice of words. She certainly didn’t wish to serve Nocturnal. In life or death. 

"You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in my favor."

"My appetite for Mercer's demise exceeds my craving for wealth, Your Grace."

"Revenge? How interesting... very well, the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed."

"Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honor our agreement in this life and the next until your conditions have been met."

"Very well. I name your initiates Nightingale and I restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I'd suggest you refrain from disappointing me again." The raven cawed, bursting into a flurry of feathers. And the shadowy figure was no more. 

Karliah stepped off the pedestal, meeting them at the center of the room. She could feel Brynjolf’s eyes on her from under his hood. "Now that you've transacted the Oath, it's time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle to you; Mercer's true crime."

“True crime?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t really care, because I’m going to kill him anyway. But what?” 

"Mercer was able to unlock the Guild's vault without two keys because of what he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher... the Skeleton Key. By doing this, he's compromised our ties to Nocturnal and in essence, caused our luck to run dry."

“The Skeleton Key?” Brynjolf frowned, “the artifact that unlocks any door?” 

"Well, yes. But the Key isn't only restricted to physical barriers. All of us possess untapped abilities; the potential to wield great power, securely sealed within our minds. Once you realize the Key can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless." 

“And this what Mercer has? Why can’t the guild keep it?” Brynjolf asked. 

"If the Key isn't returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher, things will never be the same for the Guild. As time passed, our luck would diminish to the point of non-existence. And whether you know it or not, our uncanny luck defines our trade."

“But nothing happened?!” Akhara swung an arm gesturing back towards the gate where Nocturnal had appeared. “I do not have any knowledge I didn’t have before we spoke to her.” 

"You merely transacted the Oath. Signed the unwritten contract with Nocturnal. In order for us to receive our abilities... our end of the bargain, the Key must be returned. But with the Skeleton Key missing from the Twilight Sepulcher, I'm afraid Mercer's seen to it that none of us can benefit from Nocturnal's gifts." 

Akhara frowned. She didn’t want Nocturnal’s gifts. But if Mercer had taken the oath and was bound to serve Nocturnal in death, there had to be a way around it. Serving a daedric prince for all eternity seemed too good of an end, even for Mercer. 

“We should head to Irkngthand as soon as possible.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Akhara said, “I’ve got a few things to steal first.” 

.***.

Akhara tossed in her bed at the Nightgate Inn. She was no stranger to nightmares. They came often. Some nights worse than others. It wasn’t uncommon to dream of the hunting grounds, of running through the trees. But this nightmare, she couldn't pin it on any one thing, or daedra. At first she'd thought it was the work of Vaermina. The first one came after they spent the night in Dawnstar ages ago. Erandur had destroyed the skull. But then it happened again. 

It always started differently. It didn’t matter what her dream initially consisted of, because eventually, she would find herself walking down a long stone hallway that could only be some kind of prison. No lights. No sounds. No people. And she would keep walking, everytime unsure of what she would find, but everytime it was the same thing.

There would be a shadowy figure, broad shouldered, standing over a corpse on the ground. She couldn’t see the figure well. Their back facing her, unmoving as she stepped closer. No matter how loud she tried to be. The figure wouldn’t flinch. Seemingly transfixed on the body before them. 

That’s when she would notice the blood. It seeped across the stone and into the cracks. It was on her feet, her hands…the body on the floor would come into focus. Every time she hoped it would be different, but she would recognize the blue robes Rumarin wore anywhere. 

She woke with cold sweat clinging to her forehead. She’d been having this same nightmare for weeks. Months now. Since Dawnstar and destroying the skull it happened once or twice. Admittedly she hadn’t been too phased the first time. Considering the sole reason she had tracked Rumarin down was because she’d thought he was a Thalmor spy, based purely off the word of some nord woman in Windhelm. But then he’d saved them, and proven to be quite frankly, the opposite of what she’d expected. He’d never given her any reason to believe he was associated with the Thalmor. So then she thought… Well, she wasn’t sure what she thought now. But since Snow Veil… ever since she’d woken up in that ruin with Karliah and Rumarin hovering over her, it was so much worse.

.***.

Rumarin and Inigo were already awake and eating when she exited her room. Inigo stretched. “Are we ready to go meet Karliah and Brynjolf?” 

“I’m going to meet them at Irkngthand. I think...” she tapped two knuckles on the wooden table, “you two should wait here.” Not voicing how worried she was that Mercer was almost certainly waiting for them. Who knew what kind of traps he’d laid. She would rather Brynjolf walk into one of them than… 

“Are you sure? I don’t like this idea,” Inigo said darkly. 

“Are we forgetting the last time you were alone with Mercer? Come to think of it, that was really the source of all our problems.” 

“Not, ugh,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, “I’m not alone this time. Karliah and Brynjolf will both be there.” 

“Riiight, because Brynjolf is going to make a difference,” Rumarin said, crossing his arms. 

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing,” Rumarin shrugged, looking away. “Didn't the two of you…" 

She waited several seconds for him to finish his question before realizing he wasn’t going to say it because he thought she and Brynjolf had been intimate. She rolled her eyes. "No." 

“Oh. I just thought, because of- you know what, nevermind.” 

"You thought… Brynjolf and I…"

"I'm just saying, if he called me lass like that, I'd at least consider it." 

At that she snorted. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but we’ll be fine. Besides, if Mercer does somehow manage to kill all three of us, we at least need someone out here who knows and is still alive.” 

Inigo narrowed his eyes at her, “you really think this is for the best?” 

“Yes,” she schooled her face into a neutral expression. 

Inigo continued to eye her, but nodded. 

Rumarin stretched, reaching his arms over his head, “Well what are we going to do with our day off?” They could be sour about it if they wanted. She wasn’t giving Rumarin a chance to get killed in some dwemer ruin, just in case the dream meant something. 

.***.

.

.

.

She hated the Dwemer. She hated Falmer. And she hated Mercer Frey. The weight of the black soul gem she’d stolen from Riften poked her side as she crouched, following Karliah through the ruin. If what Karliah had told her was true, then Mercer’s soul belonged to Nocturnal upon his death. She wasn’t sure what it would mean if she managed to soul trap him. She didn’t really care. Stab her and leave her in a ruin to die, asshole. Brynjolf helped her push open the large brass dwemer doors, leaving the three of them standing on a ledge overlooking the cavern. 

Giant pipes stretched across the ceiling. The sound of water rushing through, along with the occasional _ drip, drip, _leaking from the pipes. A colossal statue of a falmer filled the room, stairs on either side of it, with Mercer dangling in front of its face, a jeweled eye already under his arm. 

“He's here and he hasn't seen us yet. Climb down that ledge and see if you can..."

“Karliah, when will you learn you can't get the drop on me.” Another low rumble shook the room. Mercer turned, fully facing them. She wanted so badly to kill him where he stood. One shout, and it could be over. But she had to get close, in order for this to work. 

"When Harel sent you to me I could feel a sudden shift in the wind. I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade.” 

She pulled her daggers from her belt. “Give me the key, you fucking kwama.” 

"What's Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of thieves with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key or anything having to do with the Guild."

“TO BLAZES WITH NOCTURNAL!” she yanked down her hood. “I’m going to shove that jewel so far up your ass not even that key will be able to get it out.” 

Mercer’s heartless laugh echoed around the chamber. "Wait a moment... do I detect a hint of genuine avarice from this _ noble _ thief?” he sneered. “I don’t need Nocturnal’s help to kill you! As you well know I am capable of doing that myself!” 

“Apparently not, since I’m still here, you s’wit!” 

“Yes…” Mercer looked to Karliah and Brynjolf, “since you had help. I won't be making that mistake again. I don't think any of you will be leaving here alive. Or that other elf and cat that follow you. I’m sure their ears would make a nice necklace.” 

Something hard settled in the pit of her stomach. Smoke seemed to fill her head. Voices that weren't her own. _ Krii... _

She jumped down. Feet splashing in the already shallow water on the floor. Mercer wagged a finger at her, while stuffing the large jewel into a bag. 

The sound of a blade being drawn behind her made her turn. Brynjolf was facing Karliah, weapon drawn. Anger shot through her, her grip tightening on her daggers. 

"What's... what's happening!"

Karliah blocked his hit with her bow, one of the daggers clattering to the floor. "Fight it, Brynjolf... he's taken control of you!"

"I'm sorry lass, I... I can't..."

"Damn you, Mercer!" Karliah growled, fending off another of Brynjolf’s blows. 

Mercer’s heartless laugh echoed around the room. Akhara spun around, searching for his figure near the statue. There was nothing. The realization hit her like lightning. He was a shadow sign. Two could play that game. She snapped her fingers, vanishing, and rushed up the stairs. 

She stopped near the statue's head, carefully looking around the room for signs of movement. A ripple ran across the water on the floor. There. Her boots slipped on the stairs as she all but sprinted towards the disturbance in the water. 

_ Krii. _

He was heading for the door. Brynjolf and Karliah were still locked in combat on the ledge in front of it. In a flash, Mercer’s form reappeared, right behind Karliah, blades drawn preparing to kill them and run by. 

_ “Fus!” _

Her shout knocked all three of them off the ledge. Mercer hit the stone floor with a splash, landing on all fours. The entire cavern shook again. Loose rock fell from the ceiling, followed by the sound of bending metal. The rushing of water grew louder. Karliah jumped up, backing away from Brynjolf who was shaking his head, no longer trying to attack her. 

Mercer fixed her with a glare. She stared back, her chest heaving. Water splashed against her legs as she ran forward. He turned, making to run, the water causing him to slip. Her hand reached out, letting the energy run through her for one of the only spells she knew. All she needed was an opening. She saw it, just as he turned his back. She was close. Close enough her fingers grazed the back of Mercer’s neck, a wisp of purple smoke all that signified her spell had worked. 

Mercer’s blade swung wide as he spun around. The clang of metal rang against her ears as she blocked it. The grinding of her teeth set her on edge as she forced him back. He ducked and swung again. She easily moved aside. His swings became frantic. _ Enough of this. _

Her blade connected with his neck. There was a second, just a split second, where Mercer seemed to realize what had happened. And in one hard jerk, she took off his head. 

The wisp of purple smoke traveled into her pocket at her side. It had worked. She stared down at the body of Mercer Frey, letting her shoulders drop. Water fell from her curls. Keening was dripping with blood. She grabbed Mehrunes' razor from Mercer’s hand, fishing through his pockets for the key. But her catharsis was short lived. Another splash and thud next to her as a chunk of rock fell from the ceiling as the water poured in. 

“We need to get out of here!” Karliah cried. “Grab the key and let’s go!” 

Brynjolf was already climbing back up to the door. Fists banging against the metal. “It isn’t moving! Something must have fallen on the other side!” 

Water splashed around her waist now, soaking her to the bone. "We need to get higher!" Karliah cried. "The statue-" the dunmer pointed. Cold soaked her head as she dove into the water, swimming towards the statue. She tried not to think about things that might be in the water. Like Mercer's soulless body. 

Her fingers brushed the edge of the smooth stone. Pulling herself up onto the statue, she saw Karliah next to her. "What about the pipes? The water must be draining somewhere into the lake," 

“There!” Brynjolf was on the statue's other shoulder- pointing towards a set of pipes that disappeared into the rock behind the statue’s head. 

She climbed onto the head of the falmer, leaning on the ear. The water reached the statue's shoulders now. Some of the rocks around the pipes shifted. She took a deep breath, feeling her chest expand, before shouting again. This time the rocks fell loose. Tumbling into the water below. Over the rushing sound she heard Brynjolf cheer. She dove into the murky water after Karliah, swimming for the opening in the rock. 

Her hands finally reaching solid ground, she pushed herself up into the tunnel. Karliah came up beside her, coughing as she broke the surface. Byrnjolf’s mop of red hair came up after, droplets of water flying as he shook his head, wet curls sticking to his face. The three of them crawled onto more solid ground into the tunnel. 

"Did you grab it?" Karliah panted, still on the ground. 

She grunted, holding up the key. 

.***.

She pushed open the door to the Nightgate inn, still soaking wet, dripping water onto the floor. Karliah and Brynjolf followed close behind her. The inn was nearly empty. Two familiar figures sat hunched over a table. 

Inigo looked up at the sound of their entering. His furry ears standing up when he saw they were all alive, and completely soaked. “You’re all alive!” 

Rumarin picked his head up off the table, the red lines on his forehead indicating he’d fallen asleep. “Wait, you’re all wearing the same thing,” he squinted at them, blinking several times, “how do we know one of you isn’t Mercer?” 

Karliah pulled her hood down as she sat at a table. 

Akhara rolled her eyes from behind the mask. “Does Mercer Frey have this figure?” she gestured, feeling an innate sense of satisfaction at the blush that made its way across Rumarin’s face, turning his ears red. 

“Mercer’s dead,” Brynjolf said, plopping down next to Inigo and dropping the sack that held the jeweled eyes to the ground, “the lass saw to it herself.” 

“Yes, I missed this dagger,” she held up the razor, pretending to gaze at it lovingly. 

“Yes, we know, you’re weird about daggers,” Rumarin rolled his eyes, “glad to see you all made it back, though.” 

“I’m not weird about daggers. This one is just particularly sharp and nice looking.” 

.

.

.

She sat in front of the fire at the inn for hours after the others had gone to sleep. Fingers slowly combing through her now dry curls. Pulling her hair back and weaving some of it into braids, before grabbing it all and twisting it into a low bun. 

She reached into her pocket, feeling the handle of the skeleton key against her palm. Karliah had said it could unlock people… their potential. She stared at the daedric symbols along the handle. Unlock any door. The words played over and over in her head. Could it unlock portals to other realms? The daedric planes? Aetherius? 

Karliah had told her the key had to be returned to the sepulcher. In order to gain Nocturnal’s gift. But Karliah refused to return it herself, citing her grief over Gallus. Brynjolf would be taking the jewels back to Riften, and would be able to come to the sepulcher later, to get his reward from Nocturnal. Of course, after she did the work of returning the key. She opened her pack, staring at the black soul gem. It’s dark purple glow emitting just enough to light up the inside of the bag. 

“Awake already?” Rumarin’s cheerful voice startled her. 

She flipped the bag closed, shoving it away. “I haven’t gone to sleep yet.” 

“Oh.” He brought up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Well, it should be easier now that Mercer’s dead, right? If you want, I can delay them at least another few hours by pretending I have ataxia.” 

She let out a small laugh. She couldn't explain to him, of all people, why she didn’t want to go to sleep. _ Oh, it’s just I’m afraid that if I fall asleep I might see you being murdered. _ Sure. He wouldn't have questions about that at all. “No thanks, Ru.” 

He shrugged, sitting down next to her. “So now that you have the skeleton key, we can open a lot of doors. Any door for that matter. Which door should we open first? I'm drawing a blank,” 

"It isn't just doors though, he controlled Brynjolf with it. Took over his mind. Made him fight Karliah."

"So how do you know Brynjolf is Brynjolf, and not secretly Mercer? Also, can you use it to make the innkeep here cook a decent meal before we go?"

"Here," she reached into her pocket and tossed the key. Rumarin caught it in mid air. "I don't really care what you do with it."

Standing, she made for the door to the room she’d rented. "Just don't lose it," she added. 

She did eventually fall asleep. If only for an hour or so. No dreams visited her. Maybe it had been warning her about Mercer. Either way, she slept better than she had in a long time. 

.***.

The twilight sepulchre was little more than a dimly lit room with a small smooth circle of stone at the center. The pilgrim’s path, on the other hand, was some convoluted death maze that Karliah had failed to mention should she step into the light, would literally _ burn _ her. The back of her hand that was gripping the skeleton key, now sported a newly healed burn. It had taken her nearly an hour outside the entrance to persuade Rumarin to give back the key. He’d held onto it the entire way. She supposed she could have just picked his pocket while he wasn’t looking, but that wasn’t the point. 

She knelt before the pale smooth stone, sliding the key into the slot. The soft sound of feathers against the air filled the room. Smooth stone turning to a dimly glowing liquid. The dark growing as if it was choking out the light from the candles. Any warmth seeped from the room, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She never called out to Hircine, but for a moment she considered it. Instead, measuring her breathing. _ Don’t ever let them see your fear. _

Familiar figure of Nocturnal rose from the pool. “My, my. What do we have here? It's been a number of years since I've set foot on your world. Or perhaps it's been moments. One tends to lose track. So... once again the Key has been stolen and a champion returns it to the Sepulcher. Now that Ebonmere has been restored, you stand before me awaiting your accolades; a pat on your head... a kiss on your cheek. What you fail to realize is that your actions were expected and represent nothing more than the fulfillment of your agreement.” 

Akhara’s shoulders tensed. Would Nocturnal know she’d captured Mercer’s soul? 

“Don't mistake my tone for displeasure, after all, you've obediently performed your duties to the letter. But we both know this has little to do with honor and oaths and loyalty. It's about the reward; the prize. Fear not. You'll have your trinkets, your desire for power, your hunger for wealth.” Nocturnal raised a pale grey hand, gracefully gesturing to the pool below her. “I bid you to drink deeply from the ebonmere.” 

“I don't want it.” she stuck out her chin 

The goddess paused, tilting her head. “And what is it that you want in exchange?” 

”Knowledge.” 

“Knowledge? I'm afraid you are in the wrong prince's favor for that.” 

“No. Knowledge you would possess, Lady Nocturnal. A simple yes or no answer to a question.” 

“And what else could you possibly offer me? You have already pledged your soul in exchange for power from me.” 

“We both know that's untrue,” Akhara pulled her hood down, “I am offering you a soul, in exchange for an answer. A new deal. I don't want these Nightingale powers. Consider my returning the skeleton key a favor.” 

The goddess regarded Akhara for a long moment. “Very well, what is your question, child?” 

“My mother. Is she alive?” 

The room grew colder as the entity that was Nocturnal tilted it's head slightly. Taking in the long pause. “Yes.” 

There it was. She felt something blossom in her chest at the answer. Knowing Nocturnal would not answer anything else, not without another deal. 

“Thank you, lady Nocturnal. Now,” Akhara exhaled, praying silently that this would work, “when do you want your soul?” 

The goddess raised an eyebrow. “I am content to wait until your death, child. Time matters little to me.” 

“Perhaps,” she said, raising her head, “but it matters to me. And I prefer not to have any long standing debts, so… how about now? I’m thinking Mirmulnir.” 

Nocturnal focused on Akhara with a glare as if truly seeing her for the first time. “You play a dangerous game with me, Shezarr.” 

“I'm hurt you think this is a game,” she smiled, showing her teeth. “We both know I wasn’t yours to begin with.” 

Nocturnal’s gaze bore a hole into her. But in the hesitation, she knew she’d won. The deal had not been broken. Nocturnal would still get a soul, just not the one she had expected. 

“Then the die has been cast.” A lazy grey hand extended towards her, long fingers curling before Akhara’s face as blood began to rush in her ears, the pounding in her head speeding up in time with the frantic pace of her heart. The onslaught of voices and feelings that overcame her whenever they killed a dragon all rushed to her head. And then it stopped. The world seemed a little quieter. 

Nocturnal closed her fingers, “Your fate awaits you. Farewell. And Karliah-” 

Akhara glanced towards where Nocturnal was looking. The dark elf woman stepping forward from the shadows along the wall, head bowed. When had she gotten there?

“See to it the Key stays this time, won't you?" Nocturnal vanished in a flurry of dark raven feathers. And the room was lighter once more. 

“That was risky,” Karliah reprimanded her. 

“It’s just another daedric prince. I’ve already got to deal with one. Two just seemed like trouble.” 

Karliah shook her head, crossing her arms. “I’ll need to find another Nightingale.” 

“Try Vex. I think she’d like it.” Akhara smiled at the thought of Vex knowing Delvin was right about the curse, but not being able to tell him about it. She and Karliah emerged from the sepulcher, blinking as she found they were back at the entrance. Rumarin and Inigo waiting nearby. 

“Wow that was fast. I didn't even finish counting down to half of ninety nine barrels of elves on the wall.” 

"Everything is finished then?" 

“The deal with Nocturnal was sealed, even if you managed to bet your soul and still win somehow,” Karliah chided. 

“Are you insane?” Inigo hissed, “You offered a daedric prince your soul!” 

Akhara shrugged him off, “No, I offered her _a _ soul. I did not specify which one.” 

“You aren’t joking and I think that makes it worse,” Rumarin squinted at her. “You know, when you find yourself trapped by some daedric prince because you thought it would be fun to play word games, I won't be helping you out.” 

“I’m glad that ended well,” said Karliah. “Rumarin is right, it isn't wise to play such risks with daedric princes. But at least she’s appeased.” 

“What will you do now?” 

“The Guild has welcomed me back with open arms. I feel like a void in my life has finally been filled. I only hope that this isn't an ending to things, but actually the beginning."

"The beginning of what?"

Karliah just smiled, before snapping her fingers. Vanishing before her eyes. 

.***.

It took them a week to get back to Riften. When they entered the city gates the smell of baked sweets reached her nose. Lanterns were strung up around the main square, illuminating the gentle snowfall. People danced in the streets, drinking, celebrating. 

"What is going on?" Inigo asked.

“I think it's the new life festival.” Rumarin wrinkled his nose as a pint of black briar mead was offered to him by a stranger, who shrugged and wandered off as they made their way through the street. “So, this means my birthday was five days ago. And I didn’t even notice! It’s a shame I don’t have any funny jokes about that.”

“It was your birthday?”

“What, why didn't you tell us?!”

“Honestly between killing Mercer and returning that creepy key it slipped my mind. Besides, it falls so close to Saturalia,” he shrugged. “Growing up we usually ended up just celebrating both in one go.” 

“So you didn't get to just celebrate your birthday?” Inigo sounded horrified. 

“Of course we celebrated. But with normal things, like a good meal and presents. This though,” he raised an eyebrow at a group of nords who were jumping off the pier into the lake. Their laughter and splashing echoing around the docks.

“You don’t like lakes?” she grinned, thinking back to when she’d pushed him off the pier in Solitude. 

“No, I’m also not a fan of being shoved into them,” he said before sticking out his tongue. 

“Hey!” a nord man waved at them from the docks. “What are you three waiting for!” 

She stopped, glancing at Inigo and then Rumarin, already knowing full well she could persuade them to jump into the lake. “You know, what is that saying? When in Cyrodiil…” 

“We’re not in Cyrodiil-” Rumarin protested. 

Inigo laughed and began removing his boots. Both of them shrugging off their armor until standing in their underthings on the edge of the pier. The frigid air pricked her skin. But it was welcoming. She flexed her left leg, trying to move away the stiffness that settled after keeping still too long. She bounced on the balls of her feet, teetering on the edge. Her stomach clenched in anticipation of the cold. 

“Ugh, the two of you are a bad influence,” Rumarin whined, reaching up to remove his robes, “now I have to jump too, or else I’ll look like a milk drinker.” 

“Aren’t you?” the words left her mouth before she could stop. She felt his hands on her back the split second she realized he was right behind her. Her swear lost to the freezing water as she hit the surface with a splash. Freezing cold assaulting her skin as the world briefly went quiet, the water filling her ears. 

Oh, she was going to _kill _him. Her head broke the surface. She spun around in the water to see Rumarin laughing on the pier. She swung her arm, splashing water up at the dock. Only managing to get his feet wet. 

Inigo threw his arms around Rumarin’s middle, the air loud with laughter mixed with protests, as Inigo hauled both of them into the freezing lake. The group of locals already in the water cheering at the display and flinching away from the resounding splash. Several more people lined up on the docks to jump in. 

Akhara dove under the water, swimming away from the splashing and towards the dock. She pulled herself up onto the dock, water spilling onto the wood as the cold air made gooseflesh appear on her skin. Feet dangling off the edge of the dock, not quite touching the water. She reached up to wring out her hair, watching as Inigo laughed and splashed Rumarin, now joined by several others. 

A hand clapped her on the back. “It's good to see you in one piece, lass!" Brynjolf said, stepping down to sit on the edge of the dock next to her. "I just wanted to give you a proper thank you for everything you've done. The Guild is back on its feet again and on its way to a prosperous future." 

“Well,” she exhaled, wringing more water out of her curls, “that_ is _ what I was sent here for.”

“Aye,” Brynjolf cleared his throat, not meeting her eyes. “So ah, I’ve been meaning to ask, what became of the Skeleton Key?” 

“It’s returned, don’t worry, Nocturnal won’t be blocking the guilds luck.” 

Brynjolf exhaled, blowing a strand of red hair out of his face. "So that's it then. After all of those years of helplessly watching the Guild decline…” 

“Yes, shocking really, how Mercer turned out to be a prick.” 

“I'm sorry-” 

“There’s no need to be sorry.”

“Not being sorry I blew my chance with you? I don’t know, seems like a reason to me.” 

“You never had a chance with me,” she said, elbowing his side. 

Brynjolf laughed, “Ah, there she is. Do you remember how we met?” 

“You broke into my room at the Bee-and-Barb.” 

“I didn't break in,” he smiled, “the door was open! Besides, you knew exactly who I was. I thought you were just another thief. Didn't cross my mind until you told me to tell Mercer you were coming. But enough of that... I'm confident that now, we'll soon have more gold than we could possibly spend." 

“You going to be the new guildmaster then?” 

"Aye. I'll be down here, trying to coordinate everything with Delvin and Vex; to make sure the coin keeps flowing... and no one skims! If you still feel like doing some jobs for us… we’ll always be open to you, lass.” 

“Thanks, Bryn. I should get back to Harel, eventually. Let her know I’m alive.”

“I’ll send a letter,” he nodded. “It's been a pleasure." Brynjolf surveyed the scene in the lake, a wide smile breaking across his face. “I think your friends are trying to get your attention,” he nodded out to the water where Inigo and Rumarin were waving at her and shouting, along with several others she didn't recognize. 

“If you shout at the water when you jump, will it make a big splash?!” Inigo yelled. She spied Rumarin bobbing behind Inigo, hands on his shoulders. 

She laughed, bringing a hand to her mouth to hide a smile.

“I’ll leave you to your audience,” Brynjolf laughed. 

She stood, hands on her hips before yelling out over the water. “You want me to jump?!” 

The people in the water cheered. 

“Do a flip!” Rumarin cried. 

Grinning, she took a careful step back from the edge of the dock. Took a running start. And leapt. 

.***.

“Well, that was… invigorating?” Rumarin shook a towel over his head, his hair sticking up at odd angles. 

They were back in the Bee and Barb, having dried off and found a table in the corner. The tavern was crowded with locals, some drunkenly singing by the fire. She thought one of the drunken singers looked like a priest of Mara… 

“So, where to next?” Rumarin mused. 

“Solitude?” Inigo offered, sitting drinks down in front of them. 

“I’d rather avoid Solitude,” Rumarin said, inspecting his drink as if he was making sure it wasn’t Black-Briar mead. 

“Really? I thought you liked bigger cities.” 

“I like the _convenience _of bigger cities. Pretty much everything else is horrible though. And they smell like cooked garbage.” 

Akhara sank into a chair, rubbing a hand over her face. No more thieves guild. She was done. The guildmaster back in the Imperial City could shove it. She was content to just listen to the two of them debate on where they should go, for no reason at all, when another conversation at the bar caught her ears.

“Did you hear that museum up in Dawnstar was found burned. And the owner found dead in the snow outside of town.”

Wait, what?

“Aye, some foolish sod trying to bring back the mythic dawn. Thing’s best left forgotten.”

“Wait but you said the museum was burned down?”

“Yup,” the nord took a drink. 

“By who?”

“Don't know. Word is that it was some dark elf. Wouldn't be surprised if it was someone from the town though.” 

Akhara caught Rumarin watching as he pretended to drink. "We didn't burn that place…" she said.

"No. But you heard them,” he shrugged, “the people of Dawnstar weren't exactly keen on the whole thing." 

“What are you thinking?" Asked Inigo. 

"Whoever burned that place is trying to send a message. I want to know who. And I want to know why."

“Do you think they'll stop? We don't have to worry about someone tracking us down because of that dagger, do we?” 

Akhara looked at the black pommel of the razor at her hip. "Not if we find them first. Besides Dawnstar is far enough away I’m sure we’ll run into interesting things on the way." 

“Does this mean we're going to Dawnstar again?” Rumarin deflated. “Ugh, I am so tired of going to Dawnstar.”

.

.

.

.***.

They left in the morning, setting out on foot across the Rift. The fur from their new cloaks keeping her delightfully warm. Thanks to Brynjolf handing her a rather large sack of coin, saying it was her cut from what he’d sold the eyes for. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Not even the frigid air of Skyrim’s winter could get rid of the warmth she felt in her chest. They had gold, they had no current pressing obligations, and they had time. 

Stopping to set up camp after they passed a dragon shrine on the road west of Riften. Inigo had gone to hunt for some dinner. Since she wasn’t handy with a bow and didn’t feel like transforming, and while Rumarin was a good archer, he wasn’t exactly good at tracking down small animals. A sigh came from behind her. 

She glanced over to where he stood, his back to her, fur cloak covering nearly everything but his face, arms crossed, staring down at his tent as if it would set itself up if he glared hard enough. The itching in the back of her head had started as soon as the shrine came into view. She looked back towards the road, towards the dragon shrine. Maybe two-hundred feet off. Her eyes scanned the sky through the trees. No signs of a dragon. No distant roar. But the people, the people were still there. Working on it. Some Stormcloaks, Imperials, and bandits. All mining away at the shrine. None of them ever so much as glancing their way when they’d passed. 

Inigo had said he’d felt a pull, a compulsion, whenever they passed one. Rumarin had conceded the shrines were creepy from under his hood, not even looking in its direction. She continued to stare towards the road. What leaves that remained on the trees were brown and covered with frost as they shivered in the wind. In. out. In. out. The sounds of the wind and Rumarin cursing at his tent falling away. Until the only sound was the blood rushing in her ears. The garbled voices became clearer. Enough to form syllables. _ Gaar. Niin. _Frowning, she shook her head. None of the words that occasionally made their way through made sense to her. Once in a while, a word with meaning would come through. She didn’t know where that meaning came from. Did it come from the shrines?

Standing silently from fixing her tent, she began walking towards the shrine. Careful not to step on any fallen leaves. The cold bit her fingers as she stepped out of the tree line, onto the road. She wanted a closer look. 

_ She wanted a closer look. _

That was all she wanted. She wouldn’t get too close. She wanted to know why she wasn't affected by… whatever power held these people here. She walked closer to the shrine. Maybe fifty paces off. Nothing. She felt nothing. 

Closer. Thirty paces now. 

Twenty. Ten. She could see the faces of the various people mining away at it. Some were gaunt. 

Another step closer. Gripping her dagger just in case, she approached one that stood near a pillar, laboriously carving markings into the stone. 

A chill ran down her spine as he turned, feet sliding in the snow as she stepped back. The flesh thin, and pulled tight across his features, exposing the veins and sinew underneath. Hollow blue eyes unmoving as their hands continued to work. This man was little more than a corpse. 

She shrank back, turning towards another one of the workers. This one looked younger, middle aged. But the skin sagged, like a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks. She spun around again, blood rushing in her ears, heart pounding in her chest. All of the eyes, all of them, were a violent blue. 

Snow crunched to her right. Raising her dagger on instinct, she turned, exhaling at the sight of a familiar high elf, who was kneeling down in front of the shrine. “By Azura, don’t _ do _ that.” She lowered her dagger with a shaking hand. “I almost thought you were one of them.” 

Something icy made its way down the back of her neck when he didn’t respond. 

“Ru, do not fuck with me right now. It isn’t funny.” 

Silence. The first few droplets of rain hit the ground around them. 

Blood rushed in her ears. A buzzing sound drowning out all else. Her hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. She expected his shoulders to hunch up, as if he were laughing. Joking at how he’d scared her. Instead his shoulders were slack, giving no resistance as she turned him around. 

She inhaled sharply, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burnt. His long face that was usually busy filtering between a whole host of expressions was now completely vacant. His eyes were all wrong. Where it should have been a warm gold, instead there was an icy blue. 

Her head frantically whipped around, scanning for Inigo. The rain began to mix with snow. Fog rolling in that obscured her view of the road. Was he too far? Had he come near the shrine too? She grabbed at the sides of her head with both hands. Had Rumarin followed her to the shrine? And why? Or did it manage to call him to it even from their distant camp? She didn't know. Did it matter? A strained scream escaped her in frustration. 

How was she supposed to fix this? Could she go find Inigo, and have him race to Winterhold and bring back some mages? Would they even know what to do? Maybe she had to find the dragon priest and kill it? Or the dragon itself? But there was no dragon. No roar from over the trees. The lair nearby was empty and she didn’t even see a coffin or anything that could be hiding a priest somewhere. Did she have to kill all the dragons for this? Would that free him? 

_ What if it didn't. _

The voices grew louder. The same words over and over. _ Gaar. Niin. _ She shook her head. She didn't know what that meant! 

_ Gaar. Niin. _

_ What does that mean? _

Her throat closed up. ‘Oh if only the dragonborn had gone about her duties from the start’, historians would say. She could almost hear Mhanon giving a lecture featuring her stubbornness and how it had cost her. Everything, she thought. It had cost her everything. Being stubborn as a child, sneaking out at night, getting bitten by a werewolf. Leaving Anvil and heading back to Kvatch despite her mother’s warnings. Impersonating her mother in the Great War. And now, refusing to get on with her gods given task of whatever the Dragonborn was supposed to do, instead of sneaking around shrines and playing adventurer. 

_ Oh, now you’re all going to be quiet? _

Hot tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes as she stood in the downpour. The rain and snow turning the dirt around the shrine to mud. Rumarin knelt there, digging at the dirt with his hands amongst the others, expression vacant. 

Pounding filled her ears. _ She screamed. _The Shout ripped from her throat, leaving it hoarse. Snow and dirt flew up around the shrine. Several of the people entranced by the shrine were thrown backwards. Others stumbled, falling to the ground. Her eyes darted around, looking for the familiar blue robes among the other people who’d been knocked away from the shrine. 

Several cries went up as some of the people seemed to regain some self awareness. The old man she’d first approached simply collapsed in a heap on the ground. Unmoving. 

The dirt settled, she saw Rumarin maybe ten paces away, a dazed look on his face as he found himself on the ground. Her feet carried her of their own accord. Grabbing him by the robes she half hauled him away from the shrine, both of them tripping over rocks and frozen mud that had been upturned. 

Grabbing his face with both hands, she checked his eyes the second they were far enough away. Wide, but gold, and confused. She almost laughed, instead pulling him into a hug. She felt his shoulders stiffen before relaxing. She closed her eyes. The voices were gone. She wasn’t sure whose pulse was faster. She could feel his heart beating wildly against his chest. Evidently she wasn't the only one who had panicked. Willing herself to slow her breathing, she pulled away. Her face felt hot. 

He cleared his throat. “This is going to sound odd but, what was I just doing? And why are we standing out in the rain and… are you...” Rumarin frowned, taking in their surroundings. 

“No,” she wiped under her eyes with the base of her hand, “it’s the rain.”

“Right, the rain.” He looked away, out towards the shrine and brought a hand up to his face, dragging it over his mouth. “What… happened?” 

"You got… you were-" she gestured wildly towards the shrine. 

Rumarin's frown deepened, “oh," glancing from her to the shrine. "Well, I'm fine now!” He smiled, but it seemed far too forced for her to feel better. “Good to know you can drag me out of it. Literally.”

“I wasn't going to leave you there.”

“That's a relief.” 

She frowned, uncertain if he was being serious or not. “Let's just… go back to the camp. Away from that.” She stopped in her tracks, “wait why were you near it- or did you just get enthralled from all the way over there?” 

“I followed you… I think.” He was staring at the ground with confusion, as if trying to remember. 

“Why would you follow me towards it!? You know those shrines… suck people in!” 

“Because I thought- you know what, nevermind,” he waved a lazy hand. “Let’s go back. I’m hungry.” 

She stared after him, feet rooting her in place along the road. “What? You almost turned into one of those shrine zombies, and you’re _hungry_? We don’t even know if it’s far enough away!” 

“Sure it is! I’m just an idiot who decided to follow you. Thunder cracked in the distance. The drizzle more rain now than snow. “Look, it’s cold, we’re both wet, in case you haven’t noticed, and I am hungry, so I’m getting out of this,” he gestured to the weather. With that, he turned and headed down the road, back to where they’d left the tents. 

She huffed, blowing a few curls out of her face before following after him. 

“Where did you two go?” Inigo stood over the fire roasting some small animal as they walked into the camp with mud-splattered clothes.

Rumarin opened and closed his mouth. “The shrine,” she grunted, shoving past both of them, grabbing her staff off the ground and tossing it towards the other side of the fire, purposefully setting up her tent as far away from Rumarin’s as possible. If Inigo noticed their icy attitude towards one another for the rest of the night, he didn’t say anything. 

Shifting in her bedroll, she rolled so she faced away from the fire. She considered transforming, just to get even further away. But then she wouldn’t be able to think clearly. Would be too focused on not succumbing to the hunt. An idiot who followed her? He could have died. Or ended up like that man… fingers little more than bones. She held her breath, counting as she exhaled. It was fine. Of course he was going to be deflective, what had she expected. He was fine, he was alive. Even if he was an insufferable ass. 

.

.

.

.***.

She had the dream again. She was sick of it. She was sick of the dragons, and the shrines and the voices. 

She pushed her sleeves up as they sat around the fire. Pretending to be engrossed in peeling an apple while Rumarin picked at a bowl of whatever they had leftover for breakfast. He hadn’t said anything other than to offer her an apologetic glance when she’d walked over to the fire. 

“I think… I’m going to High Hrothgar.” Her announcement met with silence as both the khajiit and the elf stared at her from across the fire. 

“You really want to go and climb all those steps?” Inigo’s ears perked up. She knew he felt she should have gone to see the Greybeards months ago. She was also immensely grateful he had never pushed it. 

“I’m serious,” she let her shoulders drop. “The Greybeards called for the Dragonborn months ago. If that is me…” she broke off, staring out into the trees. “If they know about the dragons and the shrines, then maybe there’s a way to stop it.” 

“Okay,” Rumarin squinted at her and set his spoon down. “Who are you and what have you done with Akhara?” 

She rubbed a hand over her eyes, as if she could rub away the memory of the vacant expression on Ru’s face when he’d been stuck at the shrine. Who else had that happened to? And what about those who had been there too long. Their bodies weak and thin from not eating. Just mindlessly working on the shrines. 

“Alright, listen,” she pointed with the knife she’d been using on the apple, “I’m going up to High Hrothgar. You don’t have to.” 

Inigo reached over, his warm furry hand grasping her shoulder. “I said I would follow you to the end of Nirn. I guess the top will have to do,” he chuckled. 

“Well, I’m coming too,” Rumarin shrugged. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to discern if he was being sarcastic. “I wouldn't expect you to. I doubt the Greybeards will give out gold for showing up.”

“I’ve been convinced you’re the Dragonborn for weeks,” Rumarin said, “but hey, maybe we’ll get to High Hrothgar, and it’s all a misunderstanding? You won’t be the Dragonborn. And we can go back to avoiding the dragons and get on with our lives.”

Wood popped in the firepit, sending a few slow sparks into the air. “I hope you’re right.” 

“Yes, wouldn’t that be something,” he joked. Something uneasy settled into her stomach when his smile didn’t reach his eyes. She was going to High Hrothgar for this wise-cracking elf. She sliced off another piece of the apple. Oh, if only her mother could see her now. 

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo turns out, Akhara has been put off about her repeating dream involving Rumarin dying, for like… almost as long as they've known each other. And he still has no idea. She needed more motivation to get on with the main quest, because she is itching to run off and search for her mother instead. But now that she know's she's alive, the dragon shrines seemed like a more pressing issue.  
**In an earlier version of this I had Akhara diving back into the water to get the skeleton key, and Rumarin going in after her. But honestly the two of them wet and panting in a dark cave was just too much. Also the Nightingale armor is the sexiest armor in the game. This is fact.  
With the Nocturnal stuff, I am working off the popular idea that the last dragonborn is a shezarrine. Partly because I do think it makes a lot of sense, but mostly because I just want to.  
Also if you think it's impossible to fire a bow with your feet, I implore you to google 'foot archery' and laugh with me at the idea of Rumarin learning how to do that while in the circus.


	13. Mountains and Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horns, Mystery Friends, and Bad Ideas. 
> 
> Rumarin struggles over his previous deal with the Thalmor to report on whether Ulfric is the dragonborn. Akhara finds yet another blade, but this one’s a person. And Inigo is the only one with more than two brain cells. 

.***.

Mountains and Magic 

.***.

_ Rumarin _

.

.

.

.***.

Aspen leaves littered the road, crunching in the snow beneath his boots. Rumarin pulled his fur hood tighter against the wind which only seemed to get more biting the further they walked up the path to the mountain. His unease growing with every silent step.

He knew she was mad at him. He’d basically brushed off her concern at the shrine. To make matters worse, he hadn’t spoken to her about it all since the morning. His thoughts keeping him rather occupied. It wasn’t that he planned on reporting anything to the Thalmor. But if they did this, and it turns out Akhara really is the dragonborn, and he’s there, then... he’ll _ know _. It would be so much easier to be ignorant. But he’d blurted out that he would come along without even thinking. 

He supposed, if he had to report to Rulindil, he could lie. That was always an option. Not a _ good _ one. But an option. He could tell them that Ulfric was the Dragonborn. It was certainly a popular rumor. But he had a feeling the Thalmor had more people watching Windhelm than just himself. And when they eventually found out he had lied, well… he looked ahead, towards Akhara and Inigo. He would have to make sure to sever ties with the two of them well before that happened. 

“How are you doing, my friend?” Inigo said, falling back to walk next to him. “You're awfully quiet.” 

“Hmm, oh I’m counting the steps.” 

“Slowing down?” Akhara called back, already thirty paces ahead.

“We’ll catch up,” Inigo waved a hand. Akhara shrugged under her fur cloak and continued to walk up the mountain, staff at her side. “Alright,” Inigo sighed, looking pleased with himself as Akhara walked out of earshot. “Tell me what happened yesterday.” 

“You’re not tired…” Rumarin narrowed his eyes at the grinning khajiit.

“Nor am I deaf or blind,” Inigo said. “When I came back from hunting, the two of you had disappeared. Then you both come back. Refusing to speak, which I wouldn’t find too strange from her, but from you?” Inigo shook his head. “What happened?”

Rumarin ran a hand through his hair, pushing his hood back, letting the sun hit the back of his neck. “Okay, I may have said that I was an idiot for following her, but I meant that more as a reflection of who I am as a person, not because of the following part.” Inigo’s ears twitched, giving him a sympathetic look, waiting for him to continue. “You were off hunting, and she just started… wandering towards it. I thought, _ dragon shrine _ , _ dragonborn _,” he gestured with his hands, “maybe it’s talking to her or something? So I followed, because I thought-” he swallowed. 

“That she was turning into a shrine zombie?” Inigo offered. 

Rumarin nodded, letting his hood cover most of his face. “And then I don't remember anything. It's weird. It felt like… waking up? Only on the ground, covered in mud. I have no idea what she did, but all the people at the shrine also stopped.” He laced his fingers behind the back of his neck, hanging onto it. “And then she _ hugged _ me, and I think she was crying,” he spared a glance at Inigo as they walked, “don't tell her I said that… she’s never hugged me before.”

“What?” Inigo tilted his head, “I hug her all the time.”

“Yes but that's different.” 

“How?” 

“Because….” Rumarin trailed off. Thinking of how she'd thrown her arms around his neck. _ Because you aren’t under orders to report her existence to the Thalmor if she does turn out to be the Dragonborn. Or end up eventually being hunted down by them when you fail to do so. _

“Mhm,” Inigo cleared his throat. “So you escaped the shrine, and then you said the thing about being an idiot for following her?” 

“Yes.” 

“You could try telling her that what you said isn’t what you meant.” 

They walked in silence for a moment, Rumarin chewing on the inside of his mouth. “So, you're saying I should apologize?”

Inigo tilted his head, ears quivering. “Mr. Dragonfly thinks so.”

“Ugh,” he threw up his hands, “even the bugs here are against me. She’s not exactly the most forgiving person. I’d rather just pretend it never happened.” He thought of the Thalmor in labyrinthian, Mercer Frey, that Silus man. 

“She forgave me,” Inigo said. 

Rumarin didn’t have anything to say to that. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened between Akhara and Inigo before they’d met. Other than when Akhara had revealed Inigo had shot her, and Inigo felt he owed her a debt because of it. Then again, she had forgiven him, rather begrudgingly, for the whole Alik'r thing. 

He felt Inigo’s hand pat his shoulder as they resumed walking at a normal pace. The air came faster through his lungs with each step they took up the mountain. Catching up to Akhara while walking uphill, on an increasingly snow covered path was no small feat. 

It took a few more hours of walking before they started to see shrines, engraved along the path for people visiting the Greybeards. His feet sinking through deeper and deeper snow the further up the mountain they walked. There were no more sounds of wildlife now. Not even the birds. Tree’s became scarce, replaced with more snow and rock. They were on the western side of the mountain now. Rumarin could almost make out Whiterun in the distance if he squinted. 

They trudged around another bend in the path. There, a hundred or so feet in front of them, lay a wide grey building that looked far too intimidating for monks. It's dark stone rising out of the mountain against the white snow. It’s hard edges built into the mountainside made it look more like some nord prison. The wind whistled past his ears, only quieting once they stepped into the shadow of the building. 

“Do we knock?” The three of them shared a glance before Akhara tapped on the door several times with her staff. 

The door creaked. “Yes,” an old voice spoke from the dark, opening the door wider to reveal a wizened old man. His beard tied in a knot at the end of his chin. 

“Er…” Akhara started. Inigo nudged the back of her calf with his foot. “I’m… here to see if I’m Dragonborn.” 

The old man nodded. "Ah, I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. I take it, these are your companions?” 

He watched as her head nodded up and down underneath her hood. The old man stepped back, pulling the door wide so they could enter. Rumarin blinked several times, eyes adjusting to the shadows, away from the blinding white of the snow. 

“Welcome to High Hrothgar,” Arngeir said as they stepped inside. They stood in a rather large hall. Candles flickered along the walls. Three other figures stood near the center of the room, all dressed in the same robes as Arngier. Rumarin shivered, rubbing his hands on his arms as the door closed behind them, letting a final gust of wind. 

“Who-” Akhara started. 

Arngeir held up a hand at her question. "We will have time for questions later. There are three trials to proving that one is Dragonborn. First, shout for us." 

Rumarin leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Trials? No one had said anything about trials? They were just going to see if she could shout? He already knew she could, but so could Ulfric, that didn't make her Dragonborn, right? 

"Do not be afraid. Your Shout will not harm us."

Rumarin coughed into his hand at the look of pure doubt that crossed Akhara’s face. Her footsteps echoed around the room as she stepped forward, holding her staff at her side. She inhaled- 

_ “FUS!” _

Rumarin watched the banner on the wall go flat against the stone. The Greybeards stumbled. Even from behind her, the wind from the shout was enough to ruffle his hair. 

The room was silent. 

“How did you learn this shout?” Arngeir asked. 

“I don't know,” Akhara shrugged, “It was after we killed the first dragon, at Whiterun. It… spoke.” 

Rumarin blinked. The dragon told her how to shout? This was not, in fact, going how he had hoped, judging by the looks on the Greybeards faces. 

Arngeir approached her, hands clasped in front of him. “What was the dragon’s name?” 

“Mirmulnir.” 

Arngeir’s wrinkled face broke into a smile, the others inclined their heads. “We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar.”

Damn it all. Rumarin felt like the banner on the wall was mocking him. He really had been traveling with the Dragonborn this entire time. 

“What are you called, child?” 

“Akhara.” 

“Ah kah rah,” another one of the Greybeards whispered. A low rumble shook the room, dust falling from the ceiling. 

“A powerful name.” Arengir said. “I wonder if you chose it yourself, or if it was given to you?” 

Akhara didn’t respond. 

“We will teach you how to control the power you weild. When you kill a dragon, you take it's very soul unto yourself. “ 

He frowned. That didn’t sound like what he’d been told. He thought the Dragonborn was some invincible warrior who could shout their enemies down. But that explained the voices she’d mentioned. He was incredibly glad no one was looking at him, certain he was paling against the stone. 

“Now tell me,” Arngeir said, “why have you come here?"

“The dragons, the shrines,” she gestured, “why are they popping up and how do we stop them? Does this have anything to do with me?” 

"No doubt.” Arngeir’s spindly fingers stroked his beard. “The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident. Your destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. You should focus on honing your Voice."

“You mean learn more of the dragon language?” 

“Yes, but we can help with that. We will help you hone your Voice. In time, I am sure your path will be made clear to you.”

“Why do the others not talk?” Inigo asked. 

"Their Voices are too powerful for anyone not trained in the Way to withstand. Even a whisper could kill you." Arngier said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. 

Rumarin bit the inside of his cheek. Akhara was the Dragonborn. He knew this was a possibility, hell, he had witnessed her shout down a dragon a month ago, only an idiot would not have seen this coming. But part of him had been hoping it was all a mistake. He was going to have to lie to the Thalmor. He’d avoided them so far, but he suspected he could only put it off for so long, especially now that they were expecting something from him. 

“So, am I the only Dragonborn? What about Ulfric?” 

Rumain’s ears perked up at her question. Yes, what about Ulfric! He could write back, say Ulfric had shouted at Helgen and killed the dragon there. That fit. None of it was technically a lie. He could leave her out of it entirely. As long as the Thalmor didn’t investigate further… 

“He was never Dragonborn. It took us many years of training to teach him even the simplest words. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age... that is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say." Arngeir looked between the three of them. “It is time for your second trial, if you will follow us to the courtyard.” 

The greybeards led the way through the building. He followed Inigo, half dazed as they walked back out into the sunlight. The courtyard of High Hrothgar was long and flat, and covered in snow. Arngeir spoke, but Rumarin was too wrapped up in the buzzing noise inside his own head. It would be fine. He needed to calm down. The Thalmor hardly had a presence in Skyrim at all. It would take weeks, months even for them to expect him to reply. So he had time. And when he did, he could make it as vague as it needed to be, leaving out anything about a certain redguard woman and point the finger at Ulfric. Besides, it wasn’t like the Thalmor were going to come up to High Hrothgar and ask questions...would they? Doubtful. He shook himself, catching Inigo’s worried glance. He shrugged, forcing a smile and looked over to where the Greybeards were apparently attempting to teach Akhara a new shout. 

He watched as she planted her feet on the ground, grinding her heel into the snow, before shouting. Then it was a blur. And she was on the other side of the gate at the end of the courtyard. Rumarin’s eyebrows shot up, fairly certain he had never seen anything move that fast in his life. 

"I want to learn that one," Inigo said from his right, the khajiit's eyes lit up at the idea. 

“You are now ready for your last trial.” Arngeir nodded. “Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav."

_ A horn? Why a horn? _ Rumarin chewed on his lip, watching Arngeir and the others head back inside, leaving the three of them in the swirling snow. Gods, he had to snap out of it now, before Akhara or Inigo noticed how wrapped up in his own thoughts he was. 

Akhara was looking at Inigo with a bewildered expression, some kind of silent conversation happening between the two. Rumarin let out a whistle. “I think the greybeards rather enjoyed getting hit with you thu’um. Don't be surprised if you find some whips and chains in the back room.”

Akhara turned to him, her mouth open in confusion or disgust. “Ru, that's disgusting.” Rumarin smiled as Inigo coughed into his fist, hiding a laugh. He could tell she was trying not to smile, by the way the corner of her mouth twitched. She shook her head, giving him one last odd glance while unfolding the map from her pocket. “Anyway, we have to go fetch some horn.” 

“Ustengrav… where is that?” Inigo rubbed at his chin, already frowning at the prospect of having to deal with more draugr. 

“Out near Morthal,” she said, pointing on her map. 

“Alright, here's a question. If Jurgen Windcaller was the first greybeard, that means he had a pretty powerful voice, right? If that's the case, why does he need a horn?”

"How should I know?” she said, still staring at the map. “Go ask one of the greybeards."

"Oh. I'm not falling for that. You heard what Arngeir said. I talk to one of them and I'll probably die." 

"Maybe it was a musical horn?" Inigo said, mimicking a bard horn with his hands. 

"So he was a bard of some sort? That's a dangerous profession for someone who can shout you to death. What if he got carried away during a rendition of Ragnar the Red? I've seen it happen before."

"He was a nord, right?” Inigo scratched his chin, “so maybe it was from one of those horn helmets?"

"Right, warmer,” Rumarin pointed at him, a smile breaking across his face, “I was thinking it's a dremora horn.” He smiled wider at the sigh that came from Akhara. “That's right, Jurgen Windcaller was a dremora." 

“A dremora?” she said, folding away the map. “Are you questioning the legitimacy of this sacred… horn?” 

"Oh I wouldn't dare do such a thing! You know me, always serious, always respectful," he laid a solemn hand on his chest. "Still, food for thought." 

“Anything is possible,” Inigo nodded, trying not to smile. 

Rumarin glanced around, suddenly realizing Akhara was nowhere to be seen. He looked back at Inigo. "Where-" Something cold and wet smacked the back of his neck. His shriek echoing across the courtyard and over the mountain. Rumarin whipping around, one hand pulling at the back of his collar to brush off the snow.

Akhara's laughter echoed from somewhere behind him. Inigo was laughing now, one hand clutching his stomach. 

“Not fair!” he yelled in what he suspected was her general direction. The next snowball narrowly missed Inigo as the khajiit jumped out of the way. 

He scooped up a handful of snow, packing it together in his palms. Watching the ground for impressions in the snow. He threw it. Snow exploding on impact, the cloud of white revealing Akhara’s shape against the air. 

Another blast of snow and cold hit him in the face. Shaking his head as he wiped the snow from his eyes. Inigo laughed, raising another handful of snow, the second one landing on Akhara.

.

.

.

Rumarin sank down onto the steps leading up to High Hrothgar. The back of his robes cold and wet against his hot skin. It was going to feel unbearably uncomfortable if he didn’t dry off soon, but for now, the cold felt rather nice. 

“I am going to find the washroom in this place,” Inigo said, shaking snow off his fur and shooting him a pointed look before disappearing inside. 

Akhara sat next to him on the steps, still brushing snow off her armor. He might as well get it over with now. Worst case scenario she just shouted him off the mountain and he wouldn't have to worry about being embarrassed anymore. Ugh, he knew Inigo was right. 

"So, about before…" Rumarin started, one hand tugging at the end of his sleeve. 

"You'll have to be more specific," she looked over at him. "Before what? Before lunch? Before last hearthfire? The oblivion crisis?"

"Ugh,” he wrinkled his nose at her. “You aren't going to make this easy are you?" 

She shrugged, going back to brushing off snow from the wrinkles in her clothes. "I thought deflection worked for you?"

“It does.” He let out a sigh, watching her expression as she frowned at the remaining snow. The small crease in between her brows forming whenever she was thinking hard about something. “When I said that I was an idiot who followed you, I meant… I’m an idiot. And I followed you. But those two things are mutually exclusive.” 

She looked up from her effort, eyebrows disappearing into dark curls that had been knocked loose during their snowball fight. Her dark amber brown eyes widening slightly, waiting for him to continue. 

"I'm not an idiot _ because _ I followed you. Honestly following you around was probably one of my better decisions. And I know I shouldn't have been, well…" his hand rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm sorry and thank you for whatever you did, because otherwise I'd be living the dullest life possible right now." 

"Wow," her freckle covered cheeks pulled into a smile, "what a long walk for a short drink."

Rumarin blinked. She was being funny about this?! When he was trying to be serious! "Hey! I was told to apologize and I did."

"Who told you to apologize?" A knowing smile making its way across her face. 

"… the greybeards?" Rumarin shrugged, one hand still on his neck. "Okay can we just pretend you didn't hear that and that you forgive me?"

“Please?”

“Don't…” he mimed twisting a knife in his chest, “it’s already so painful. You know I can’t be serious for more than three seconds.” 

She laughed, the sides of her leg brushing against his. 

"Alright, fine, _ please _."

She brought one arm up, elbow on her knee and resting her chin in her hand as her expression softened. “Yes, Ru. I'm glad you're back to normal and not, you know…” 

“A zombie? As am I.” 

Akhara nodded, face breaking into a smug smile before standing up and stretching, heading back inside, where it was warm. Right. He just had to pretend like everything was fine. He could do that. 

.***.

.

.

.

Inigo kicked one of the broken pots, sending pieces of it clattering against the floor. “Stupid ruin. Stupid zombies, with no stupid horn at the end of it all!” Rumarin watched the khajiit wander into the next room. Ustengrav was massive. They'd actually had to spend the night in the ruin, taking turns to watch for draugr. Though, he wasn't sure any of them had slept well. Inigo especially. 

Rumarin leaned over Akhara’s shoulder, reading the note. Her hair tickling the side of his cheek. “Oh, a mystery friend. I love mysteries. Who do you think it is? I bet it's that fifth greybeard the others were talking about.” 

Akhara chewed on her lip, glancing at him hovering over her shoulder. “Why would the Greybeards be in Riverwood?” 

“Maybe they like a change of scenery now and then. I would. But that's why I follow you."

"Is that why?" She said, tucking the note into her pocket.

Rumarin cleared his throat. Another crash came from the room ahead, where Inigo had stormed off to. His ears flicked down at the sound of something fragile breaking. 

"Let's get Inigo out of here." 

.***.

.

.

.

“The attic room?” The innkeeper at the Sleeping Giant frowned at the three of them. “Well we don't have an attic room. You can take the one on the left.” 

Akhara nodded, and handed her gold for the night. They all squeezed into the small room, Rumarin quickly sitting on the bed and Inigo sitting in the one chair next to it, leaving Akhara to roll her eyes and sit on the end table. 

“Attic room,” Rumarin mumbled, crossing his arms. “In an inn that doesn't even have an attic. I would have gone with a unique menu item, like a potage."

A soft knock rapped on the door. Before any of them could answer, it creaked open. Revealing the innkeeper. She stepped into the room, not quite closing the door and looked at the three of them sitting on the various pieces of furniture. 

“Alright so which one of you is it?” Delphine said, hands on her hips. 

Inigo and Rumarin both pointed to Akhara, who sat on the end table, arms crossed, giving them both a look of betrayal. 

“Follow me,” Delphine said. Giving a look to Inigo and Rumarin, making it clear it was only meant for Akhara. 

Akhara stood. Inigo placed a hand on her arm. “I have a bad feeling about this. Where you go, we go.”

“Fine,” said Delphine. Inclining her head that they should all follow. She led them across the inn, to what looked to be her own personal room. 

“Close the door,” she said as Rumarin stepped in last. He closed the door behind them. Delphine then opened a cabinet, and moved the wooden panel at the back, revealing a narrow staircase leading down. She walked through, expecting them to follow.

“Now we can talk.” They emerged into a cellar. Delphine walked to the other side of a table, which held a map. And various other things scattered around the room he was sure an innkeeper had no business owning. 

“So the Greybeards think you’re Dragonborn?” she looked Akhara up and down. “I hope they’re right.”

Akhara crossed her arms and stared down at Delphine from across the table. “What in Oblivion is all this?” looking around at the weapons and various potions and books that lined the walls. 

“Can’t be too careful,” Delphine's eyes traveled over Rumarin. “Thalmor spies are everywhere.” 

Akhara shook her head. “What do you want?”

“I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I've heard that you might be the Dragonborn.”

“So, what do you want?” Akhara repeated, not stepping any closer. 

“I'm part of a group that's been looking for you...well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“Bold of you to assume you can trust me even if I am the Dragonborn,” said Akhara. “I certainly wouldn’t trust you.” 

“If you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place.” 

Akhara rolled her eyes, her expression hardening. “Why did you take the horn from Ustengrav?” 

“I knew the Greybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable. When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant.”  
  
“Why are you looking for a Dragonborn? Why not ask Ulfric?”  
  
“You think I didn’t at first?” Delphine sighed. “We remember what most don't- that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it?” she leaned in, “can you devour a dragon's soul?”

The muscles in Akhara’s back stiffened, before she gave a curt nod. 

“This is not the time to play the reluctant hero. You either are or aren't.” 

Rumarin pursed his lips. Actually, it seemed like exactly the right time to be reluctant with this sort of information. If he was going to pull off lying to the Thalmor, the last thing he needed was this innkeeper spreading rumors that Akhara was the Dragonborn. 

“You said the Thalmor are after you. Why?”

“We're very old enemies. And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the dragons returning. But that isn't important right now. What is important is that you might be Dragonborn.”

“What’s important,” Akhara uncrossed her arms, stepping forward, “is me getting that horn back and getting this dragon shrine thing under control so I can get on with my life.” 

“To do that, you need to prove that you’re Dragonborn.” 

“I don't need to prove anything to you. We’re done here.” 

“I shouldn't let you walk out of here, knowing what you know. But I guess even my paranoia has its limits. You know where to find me when you change your mind. Because you will. You have to.” 

Akhara’s eyes narrowed as she turned back around to look at Delphine. “What are you not telling me?”

“Dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life.” Delphine said. “They weren't gone somewhere all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life and something’s causing those people to build those shrines. And I need you to help me stop it.” 

“So the dragons are zombies?!” Inigo said. 

“Do you know how crazy this sounds?”

“Ha. A few years ago, I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong.”

“What makes you think dragons are coming back to life? There’s always been dragons here and there. Sure they’re rare, but not extinct.” 

“I know they are. But I've visited their ancestral burial mounds and found them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. We're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

“How did you figure all this out?”

“You should know. You got the map for me. The dragonstone you got for Farengar, remember?”

Akhara grunted. 

“The dragonstone was a map?” Inigo stepped closer to the table. 

“Yes. A map of ancient dragon burial sites. I've looked at which ones are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear. It seems to be spreading from the southeast, starting in the Jeralls near Riften. The one near Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds.”

“So you want to go to Kynesgrove, and see if there’s a dead dragon being raised?” 

Delphine nodded, her expression solemn. “If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it.” 

"And if not?”

“Then we’ll have to kill a dragon.” 

.***.

Rumarin was not certain he liked Delphine. In fact he was so certain he _ didn't _ like her that he began making a mental list about two days into their trip; of reasons why he did not like Delphine. 

  1. She didn't let them stop and rest in Riverwood, nor shortly after, despite the fact _they_ had been travelling nearly a full day without rest before arriving at the Sleeping Giant. Her reasoning that they needed to hurry in order to not miss the supposed dragon resurrection. It reached a point where Akhara put her foot down and declared they were resting now and Rumarin had never been more grateful for her stubbornness.
  2. Delphine kept looking at him as if she expected him to whip out some Thalmor speech and arrest her. To be honest, he thought most people in Skyrim were probably wary because of his golden skin but they were less obvious about it.
  3. It was quiet when they walked now. Their usual banter was replaced by the sounds of their footfalls on the road as Delphine followed behind them.
  4. At some point she suggested using Mr. Dragonfly for alchemical ingredients. Rumarin didn't think he'd ever seen Inigo look so offended.
  5. She kept asking him to do things whenever they set up camp. “Can you fetch some water? Can you start the stew? Can you build a fire?”
  6. She wouldn't look him in the eye. At first he thought he was just imagining it. But even when she spoke, directly to him, she actively avoided his gaze. 
  7. She wouldn't let him or Inigo be alone with Akhara for even a moment. Not that he was angry. No. It wasn't like he had been traveling with her first or anything. It was as if she expected him to try and assassinate her in the woods. If only she knew…
  8. She had _politel_y told Inigo to stop singing his impromptu song on the chance it “might attract attention”. 
  9. When he and Inigo had made a silent pact to play withershins, Delphine had shushed him. They had been at “P”. 

And

  1. He hadn't been able to make Akhara laugh for the entire trip. 

.

.

.

.***.

The sun sank beneath the clouds when they came upon Kynesgrove. Wind blew bits of twigs and leaves through the small town. He walked behind Inigo, last in their party's little line, trying to stay as far away from Delphine as possible. It was like a ghost town. 

“Wait,” Delphine held up a hand as they approached the inn, “something's wrong.” 

A familiar roar echoed over the hills. The door to the building they passed creaked open, a nord woman sticking her face out. “What are you four doing! There’s a dragon, get somewhere safe!” 

"Where is it?!" Akhara said.

"Up by the barrow, behind the town," the woman pointed with a shaking finger. 

“This way,” Delphine waved them forward, leading them through a small trail running behind the town, up towards the hill. Rumarin couldn't help but notice the wind was stronger here, buffeting against his hood and knocking his hair loose. 

They stuck to the trees, careful to step in the shadows as the barrow came into view. “Lorkhan's eyes! Look at that big bastard!” 

The largest dragon Rumarin had ever seen beat its wings against the air, hovering above the barrow. Its scales completely black, nearly indistinguishable from the darkening sky, except for the glowing red underneath the scales of its neck and two fiery eyes. How did something this large get around Skyrim unseen? 

The dragon’s jaws opened, a crack sounding in the sky. The wind picked up. The bark from the tree rough against his hands as he steadied himself against it. The dirt on top of the barrow began to shake. 

“Steady.” Delphine crouched down. “I don't know what's happening.” 

“It’s raising them,” Akhara whispered. 

Inigo cursed something about zombie dragons when the second skeletal dragon Rumarin had ever seen clawed its way out of the ground. It's bony talons leaving grooves in the dirt longer than his arm. 

The black dragon spoke, words that sounded like what he’d heard in labyrinthian. The stence of sickness filled the air. He watched in horror as muscle and flesh began to grow around the bones. Until a fully formed dragon rested in the dirt, it scales a pale white that faded into black.

Rumarin held his breath. The two dragons seemed to be talking. Gods only knew what they were saying. He glanced at Akhara, wondering if she was able to make any of it out. The first dragon spoke, guttural syllables falling out of it's teeth, and then- suddenly, in words he could understand. “You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah…” it reared back, it's jaws spreading in an all too familiar motion. 

“Look out!” Delphine cried.

Rumarin twisted behind the tree he’d been leaning on to avoid the ice that burst from its mouth. Summoning his bow he peered back around. The black dragon had taken off. Its form disappearing over the trees. 

The dragon on the ground exhaled. Frost covered the ground beneath it as it tilted it's head, it's stark white eyes searching the treeline.

Rumarin glanced around, Inigo wasn't far, hiding behind another tree, his bow drawn, ears flat against his head. Delphine was only a few paces north of him, ducking behind a large boulder. Akhara was nowhere to be seen. He groaned inwardly. Blood shadow signs and their constant disappearing. He exhaled and drew his bow, not knowing what she was planning, but certain it was dangerous. 

There was a snap and the dragon let out a high pitched roar. Akhara appearing beside it, her dagger wedged into the membrane of its wing. He grimaced at the ringing sound the dragon’s shriek left in his ears. Letting his arrow fly while the dragon writhed on the ground, striking the wing. 

He saw another arrow bounce off the hide of the dragon's neck. Delphine and Inigo both firing from the trees. Unlike the last times they’d fought a dragon, there were no town guards or anyone else to help. Even the bone dragon in labyrinthian, they’d had the help of magic. Here, he was probably the most magic out of all of them, and that was terrible. 

The dragon’s attention all on Akhara as she weaved in and out of it’s legs, taunting it. Rumarin moved along the tree line, trying to get around to the back. 

A giant clawed hand knocked Akhara away, her form sliding against the dirt and snow. 

He dropped his bow, feeling it dissipate in his palm before summoning a blade. Sprinting out from the trees, he ducked, weaving under the dragon’s barbed tail as it swung violently. Sinking his sword into the underside of the dragon where its belly met the leg. It's screech momentarily deafening him. He let the sword vanish, not bothering to try and remove it. The dragon kicked, Its talons narrowly missing his stomach as he jumped back. 

“Stupid, overgrown lizard,” Inigo shouted, running forward from the tree’s, sword drawn. 

The dragon reared back, standing on its hind legs, throwing its wings wide. Rumarin rolled out of the way, coming to a stop in the dirt. He pushed himself up, only to freeze at the sight of Inigo struggling on the ground in front of the dragon's jaws. A long red gash visible across his armor. 

His chest went hollow. Across the clearing Akhara was still pushing herself up from the ground. Too far away. Delphine let loose another arrow from the trees. 

The dragon leaned in towards Inigo, it's nostrils flaring. Ice coating its teeth as it spread it's jaws. 

Inigo’s sword pierced its mouth from the underside with a sickening crunch. The milky white of the dragon’s eyes rolled back. Stark, red blood dripping from its mouth onto the snow. The dragon collapsed with a heavy groan. 

The pause hung in the air for a second, before Rumarin shoved himself off the ground, slipping in the cold mud. Akhara ran forward, straining as she lifted the dragon's head off Inigo with both hands. Rumarin ran up, slipping his arms under his shoulders and pulled the khajiit out. Inigo groaned. He felt some small flicker of relief as he held Inigo’s head in his lap, seeing the khajiit’s chest rise and fall. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Akhara swore, her hands shaking as she uncorked a health potion and forced it down Inigo’s throat. 

“Here,” Delphine knelt beside him, placing a hand over the gash in Inigo’s armor, peeling the armor back before a soft yellow glow encased her hand. 

Akhara grunted, holding her head in her hands, near collapsing as her breathing slowed. “That damn dragon’s name was Sahloknir. There's your proof," she ground out.

Delphine stared at her, mouth slightly agape. “So you really are…”

Rumarin cleared his throat, glaring at her and nodding back towards Inigo, who was still unconscious in his lap. Akhara knelt on the other side of Inigo’s chest, taking one of his furry hands in her own, gently stroking the back of his hand as Delphine continued her spell. 

“Ugh,” Inigo’s eyes fluttered open. “I feel like I was crushed by a mammoth.” 

“No, that was a dragon,” Rumarin said, feeling like he could laugh. 

“Ah,” he closed his eyes. “Did I kill it?” 

“Yes, Inigo, you killed it.” 

“Ha,” he laughed weakly, “my first dragon kill! I think next time I will not get so close.” 

“Gods, Inigo…” Akhara brushed some dirt off his fur. 

Delphine lifted her hands, offering her arm to help Inigo sit up. “I’ve done what I can. You should still take it easy. Luckily the gash wasn’t deep. Just long.” Rumarin and Akhara stood, helping Inigo to his feet. 

“Don’t fret," Inigo smiled weakly, "at least now I will have a nice scar to show the ladies.” 

“Let’s just get back down the hill,” Delphine said. "We can rest at the inn."

.***.

“It's true, isn't it,” Delphine looked up from her tankard once Akhara sat down next to him. “You really are Dragonborn. I owe you some answers, don't I?” she sighed, leaning back. “Go ahead. Whatever you want to know.”

Akhara glanced at him. He met her stare, still not completely calm after the dragon. Even now that Inigo was resting in the bed on the other side of the wall. Delphine having assured them that she knew her way around a healing spell, and that he would be fine. Akhara exhaled, blowing stray curls out of her face and giving her head a small shake before staring down Delphine. “Who are you, really, and what do you want with me?”

“I'm one of the last members of the Blades. A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn. Since the last Dragonborn emperor the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them.”

“The Blades?” 

“Exactly. Nobody even remembers our name these days. The Thalmor hunted us down during the Great War. For the last two hundred years, we've been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. But we never found one. Until now.” 

Rumarin took a long drink, grimacing at the taste of what passed for mead here. Wiping the foam off his lip with the back of hand. Ugh, the taste was almost bad enough to distract him from what Delphine had just said.

“Ha," Akhara scoffed, "you think I’m going to be some Dragonborn emperor?” 

“Not necessarily,” Delphine took a sip from her mug. “We remember what most don't. That Dragonborn are the only ones who can kill a dragon permanently, by devouring their souls.” 

“And you think we can stop them? The dragons? What do you know about the dragons and the shrines?”

"Not a damn thing. I was just as surprised as you to find that big black dragon up there."

“So, no one knows how to stop the dragons, or the shrines, or why they’re suddenly coming back. Wonderful, really,” Akhara pouted, glaring into her tankard and swirling the liquid around. 

“Actually, I might have an idea.” Delphine turned her mug in her hands. “The Thalmor. I bet they know. And if they aren't involved, they'll know who is.” 

Rumarin stiffened. “What makes you think the Thalmor are bringing dragons back?” 

“Nothing solid." Delphine turned her gaze on him, "Yet. But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking, shrines popping up everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?” 

“There it is,” Akhara leaned her elbows onto the wood, carefully regarding the woman across the table, “you want to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons.” 

Rumarin squirmed in his seat, pretending to fuss with his robes as he got situated on the bench next to Akhara. 

“If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy…” Delphine tapped her chin. “it's the center of their operations in Skyrim... Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia.” 

“No.” Akhara’s voice cut through Delphine’s rambling, silence falling around their small table. 

“What?” 

“No.” Akhara repeated. 

“You don’t want to know who’s behind this-?” 

“At the expense of walking right into the Dominion’s headquarters in Skyrim?” she hissed. “No, I’d rather take my chances with the dragons.” 

“You can’t just-” 

“I can.” Akhara shoved up from the table, turning to walk away. 

"You may be willing to do that, but what about those that follow you?"

Rumarin didn't need to see the expression on Akhara's face to know the question had hit home. Akhara's hesitation was enough of an answer. 

“Meet me back in Riverwood. I’ve got a few ideas, I just need some time to pull things together."

Rumarin stuck out his tongue behind Delphine's back, the door to the inn closing with a thud behind her. 

.***.

True to Delphine's word, Inigo seemed right as rain after a night's rest. Though, Rumarin would never admit he was glad she'd been right. They'd returned the horn. Akhara begrudgingly accepting the Greybeards words as they formally recognized her as Dragonborn. Quite frankly, they couldn't get down the mountain fast enough.

Back in Riverwood, Rumarin was questioning why they even bothered returning to Delphine. She seemed bent on leading them into dangerous situations. First this thing with the dragons and now...

“I figured out how we're going to get you into the Thalmor Embassy.”

“That didn't take you long…” Akhara’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not coming?”

“That would be a bad idea. I'd be too likely to attract the wrong kind of attention. But they don't know you at all, yet.” 

“Mhm,” Akhara nodded, biting at her lip. 

“The Thalmor ambassador regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor. I can get you into one of these parties. Once you're inside the Embassy, you get away and find Elenwen's secret files.” 

Elenwen? As in the First Emissary? Rumarin frowned. There was a chance the Thalmor knew more about the magic raising the dragons and the shrines. There was _ also _ the chance that the Thalmor had _ his _ name written down somewhere, and that was what he wanted to avoid. 

“You know…” Delphine began, sizing up Rumarin in a way that made him wish they'd never agreed to help this crazy woman. “It wouldn't hurt to have someone pose as a Thalmor while you're inside,” Delphine offered.

He felt three sets of eyes fall upon him and immediately shifted. “Oh no. No. Absolutely not. That's… a terrible idea. Akhara, tell her it's a terrible idea.”

“It's not the worst.”

“Exac..what!?”

She looked up from the map on the table and turned towards him. “It does allow me to have some back up. You don't have to sneak weapons in. Besides, you're the only altmer I know.”

“Now that's just ridiculous, we've met plenty of altmer-”

“You are the only altmer I _ like _,” she amended. 

“Surprising, if you look at our first encounter,” he grumbled. She ignored him and turned back to the map. “We don't even have a set of Thalmor robes!?” he cried. 

Akhara waved a hand. “That's not an issue. We can find some.” 

He knew this was a bad idea. But he couldn’t reveal why without giving himself away. He also knew that if Akhara had gotten it in her head that they were going to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy, there was little he could do short of dying that would stop her from going. 

"Inigo, we can't risk being seen before this party,” she gestured to herself and Rumarin “but you can scope out the area. I want a map of any and all structures surrounding that building.”

“That I can do!” Inigo said. 

“What about invitations?”

“Leave that to me," came Delphine’s voice. “I know a guy, argonian. You'll have invitations.”

Rumarin felt his stomach drop. Certain he knew which argonian she was talking about. “Ugh. Fine!" He threw his hands up. "Just for the record, I thought this was a bad idea.”

Akhara looked up from the map again, her face softening ever so slightly when she saw him, arms crossed, standing before the table. “Don't worry, Ru, I’ll make sure to tell the difference between you and the rest of them.” 

“_ That _ makes me feel better." 

.***.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please just take this. I have been juggling writing this and grad school work all month lol. Just picture me angrily flipping through 4 inch thick textbooks while having 100+ tabs open on my laptop and one of them is this fic lol. 
> 
> Also!! I can’t believe it’s officially been one year of posting this story on here?! Okay yeah there was a huge multi-month long gap because covid- but! Wow, I still can’t believe people are reading this? And enjoying it? To everyone who’s left kudos/comments, or is still reading, I love you all very much!   
I'm trying to have a ~somewhat~ regular posting of every 2 weeks, with the occasional one shot throw in. It's just a matter of how well I can juggle school work>everything else. If you want, come say hi over on [ tumblr](https://pinacoladamatata.tumblr.com/) ! I sometimes post about how much I love Rumarin.


	14. Not you, me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breakups, bar fights and beds but there’s only one of each.

.***.

Not you, me

.***.

_ Rumarin _

.

.

.

Winterhold was freezing. So much so, that even with the extra layers, his toes were frozen. Relief washed over him when they stepped inside the college. More so when it appeared that this was the first time they’d arrived and the town wasn’t on the verge of exploding or being attacked. It was nice… almost. Aside from the mages. He still would have liked to trade places with Inigo, who was getting to stay in Solitude and scout out the Embassy, in warmer weather, he might add.

Akhara was in the library, to see if they had anything on the Thalmor, specifically the First Emissary, Elenwen. Though in Rumarin’s opinion it was a lost cause.  _ He  _ was here because he hoped to visit Mhanon. Also, because he planned to steal some parchment and forage a letter. 

When they’d passed Windhelm on the way north, Ulundil had pressed a note into his hand. Arivanye was no longer speaking to him, apparently, since she chose to glare at him from the window. 

-R

I need a Thalmor invite for the Embassy in Skyrim. Send it back with the next courier when you’re done. Make it official looking. 

P.S. you still owe me coin

\- S

Rumarin inwardly groaned. He suspected Delphine’s comment about an argonian forager had been about Sunken-roots. But he didn’t think Sunken-Roots would forward it to  _ him. _ It’s not like he couldn’t do it. He could. Sunken-Roots already sent the foraged paper. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what those invites were supposed to look like. But finding the time to do it, without being discovered? He felt it was rather impossible. 

Voices drifted between the shelves as he walked up to the next floor of the library. Overhearing snippets of Akhara’s discussion with an imperial woman. It sounded like an interesting conversation, but the woman was far too intellectual for him to want to listen to the whole thing. His main tactic was to keep moving to prevent any students or teachers from asking him any questions. 

He glimpsed darker ornate blue robes behind a bookshelf. Mhanon. His long black braids interwoven with gold thread. Rumarin peered around the edge of the shelf, expecting to surprise him- but falling short when he saw Onmund lean over and kiss Mhanon on the cheek before letting go of his hand and walking away towards the stairs.  _ Ah…  _ he turned on his heel, trying not to make a sound. 

“Rumarin!” Mhanon’s voice startled him as the redguard came around the corner. “I didn’t know you were visiting! Where’s Akhara?” 

“Oh, she’s… flirting with someone downstairs, probably.” 

“Hmm,” Mhanon nodded, taking Rumarin by the arm and walking about the library. “Where have you been? Anywhere exciting? Are you going to be staying long?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, just… daedric shrines, some old ruins, nothing special.” 

“Really?” Mhanon smiled, his playful tone doubtful. “Nothing interesting happened? You travel with-” his eyes darted around, making sure no one could overhear them, “the Dragonborn.” 

“Yes, and it’s terribly dull.” 

Mhanon nudged his side with an elbow, giving him a look. 

“Okay, so we met a former member of the blades, and now we’re working on infiltrating the Thalmor Embassy.” 

Mhanon blinked at him, halting for a moment as they continued to walk around the numerous shelves of books. “Your secret’s safe with me. After what happened with Ancano, no Thalmor are welcome at the College. Since I’m the Arch-Mage,” Mhanon winked. 

“So, you and Onmund seem… close,” Rumarin ran a finger along the spine of one of the books.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” Mhanon said. “I guess… I didn’t realize how much Onmund cared until labyrinthian. You know, after everything that happened, he’s been a sort of constant. It’s nice. Being here, in the College. It almost feels like the rest of Nirn doesn’t exist, and it’s safe inside these walls.” 

“Is this your way of saying we should just be friends?” Rumarin forced a smile. 

“Rumarin,” Mhanon smiled softly, “You hate mages.” 

“Well, maybe I was thinking about changing my mind? Bold of you to go ahead and decide for me.” 

“You want adventure,” Mhanon reached up and placed a gentle hand on his arm, “I don’t. I want to stay inside with my books and spells and study and teach and learn new things!”

“Really? You want to study all day? That sounds  _ terrible. _ ” 

“I know!” Mhanon smiled wider. “But that’s what I want. I love books and old knowledge and... and Onmund… well, he wants that too.” 

“Well,” he looked down at Mhanon, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m glad you found someone…”

“Oh Rumarin, it’s not you-“

“I know, I know. It’s not you, it’s me.” 

Mhanon gave him a sympathetic look, which was almost worse, before patting his arm. “Be careful in that Embassy,” Mhanon glanced at him before heading for the stairs, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

.***.

.

.

.

“What are you doing here?” Akhara came up behind him as he sat in the dining hall, picking at a plate of food. “I thought you went to find Mhanon?” 

“And I did.” He poked at his meal a tad too vehemently. Stupid. He knew he wasn’t really stupid, but it certainly felt that way sometimes. That was why he couldn’t see until now what Mhanon had wanted. Maybe if he’d stayed? Ugh, but what kind of life would that be? Surrounded by mages and academics where your whole purpose came down to how hard you studied. 

Akhara scanned the dining hall, frowning at whatever she saw. Rumarin glanced over his shoulder in time to see Mhanon and Onmund walk by the door, holding hands. He heard her make a surprised ‘oh’ sound before sitting down across the table from him. “You look like you’re thinking extra hard today.” 

“I am. I’m rather glad you noticed too. Can’t have my divine intellect being wasted.” 

“About?” she prodded, picking a dinner roll off his plate. 

“This… Olivia character you met earlier. Is it true what she says?” He gestured lazily with his fork. 

“Which bit exactly? Was she the one from the Imperial City?” 

“Err, yes. Anyway, you know, the bit about students not failing so much as instructors failing to teach them. I mean, maybe it isn’t my fault I can’t cast a spell. Maybe it’s the fault of the wizards who write those blasted spell tomes!”

“Way to pass the blame,” she said between mouthfuls of bread, tearing the remaining piece in half with her fingers.

“Oh, I never miss an opportunity to attribute my failings to others. Just the other day, I was questioning my ability to lead when I realized how much easier it is to follow you instead. See? All your fault.”

“Have you considered not making excuses? Sometimes you just need to know what you want. Spell tomes are easy enough children can figure them out. Maybe you need to study.”

_ That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. _

“If that were true, wouldn’t every child from here to Valenwood be casting invisibility spells on our clothes? Unless the children of this generation are far more respectful of their elders than mine. Such a shame.”

“I suppose it’s some wizard’s fault, hmm? They’re such horrible people!” She smiled sarcastically. 

“Well, I used to think so too, but now that I’m thinking about learning more spells, I probably should describe them with a few less expletives. I’ll still hate them, of course. I think I’ll always be a bladebinder at heart. But maybe a bladebinder who’s one by choice, not by skill.”

“Are you serious about this?” she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“When am I ever _ not  _ serious?” 

“I can think of a time or two.” She tore off another piece of bread, eyes wandering around the hall. She looked back at him, frowning slightly before sighing. “Oh fine, okay. Maybe the spell tomes failed you.” 

“So we’ve reached a consensus then. I’m not a hapless idiot after all. Just hapless.” 

Akhara leaned forward on her elbows, looking at him from under her dark eyelashes, lowering her voice, “So what do you think is the best way to tap into your limitless potential?” 

“Now why do you have to say it like that? You make it sound so dirty.” 

Akhara laughed. He flicked a vegetable at her. Which she dodged and continued to laugh. 

“Ha-ha, have your fun. But in all honesty, I do think I might be able to learn a spell or two. I mean, I learned bladebinding easily enough.”

“I’m sorry, Ru,” her laughter settled down. “I know you have a thing with… I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way you hoped. But… if there’s a way to make you fight better, I’m all for it.”

Wow. Was she being genuine right now? He was almost proud of her.

“As am I. I do prefer being alive as opposed to that  _ other  _ thing. I say we scour the halls of the Arcanaeum. There must be a book there  _ somewhere  _ I can understand.”

“Let’s go.” Akhara pushed herself up from the table and led the way to the library. 

.

.

.

“To use fire, one must ignite the ethereal flint through the synchronistic channeling of… oh rubbish! This won’t do at all! Next book!”

“Here, this one has pictures.” Akhara handed him another.

“This… is a children’s story on mudcrabs,” he brandished the book at her. “What sort of library is this?” Rumarin looked around. “I think it’s time we had a word with the librarian regarding ‘quality control’.”

Whatever Akhara said after, he ignored. “Excuse me… Yes, you, Orc. Do you have any spell tomes available for…  _ special  _ mages?” 

The orc looked up from his desk, spectacles sitting on the edge of his upturned nose, “You need to not bother me,” before turning his chair to face away from him. 

“Well, that went about as poorly as one could expect. I need to make a mental note: Orcs are surly.” he crossed his arms, immediately feeling his sour mood return when he saw the familiar figure of Onmund enter the library across the room. “This is probably not the best place for me to learn, anyway. Winterhold is a traditional institution. We need to find a place that’s the opposite of that. Like a college built by sewer mages.”

“That’s just about crazy enough to be the stupidest idea ever.”

“Okay, maybe not mages that actually live in sewers. That would mean we’d have to go in one, and I just washed this robe. What I meant is, away from here.” 

“If you are that desperate, we could just buy you some scrolls?” she offered, shrugging her shoulders. 

“And be a paper mage?” he scoffed, “Oh Gods no, I still have my pride. We just need to find a mage who’s a little more unorthodox than the ones here. Do you know anyone like that?” 

“What about that orc?” he followed her finger across the way to another orc mage who was muttering to herself. He caught the words “rodent” and “flying”. 

“Well, at least we won’t have to go very far.”

.

.

.

“I take back what I said about your sewer mages.” Akhara spoke up as they headed for the tavern. “Definitely not the stupidest idea ever. I can’t say that in good faith considering the conversation we just had with that orc.” 

He started laughing. He knew she was humoring him, given what had happened with Mhanon. But it felt nice, all the same. Stepping off the bridge and back onto solid ground was a godsend. As if things weren’t so bad now, with the whole of Skyrim facing them down. Mhanon was right, there was something about the college that made it seem like it didn’t exist on the same plane. As if everything else happening on Nirn didn’t matter inside its giant stone walls. But out here... out here it was them against the world… snow and all. 

“Can you believe her?” he said, while they bought rooms at the Frozen Hearth. Rumarin refused to stay at the College, even if it was free. “A hamster? Seriously. If you’re going to replace my brain with a rodent, at least choose something ferocious, like a skeever.” 

“You think the rodent that best represents you is a  _ skeever? _ ” 

“Well, it’s not a hamster. I know that much.” 

“Yes, you’re more like a fennec.”

“Those things with the big ears? Really? That’s all you could come up with?

“I’m sorry,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m not an expert on small rodents.” 

Rumarin rolled his eyes at her. “Clearly.” 

“You know, handsome elf like you, I find it hard to believe you never married.”

“You find  _ that  _ hard to believe, do you? You had a harder time accepting that I didn’t know how to cast a healing spell.”  _ Handsome? _ She called him handsome. Did she actually think that or was she just being gentle given his recent let down with Mhanon? 

“Really though, not once? You could have married a rich old nord and collected the inheritance when you outlived them.”

“Maybe if I was terrible. Like you.”

“Come on, not even at all? Like you never even almost?” Akhara half turned in her seat, signaling the barkeep for two drinks. “What’s the secret, are you a spy? Can’t settle down?” 

“You’re asking why I never married anyone even though I’m _ ‘ancient’,  _ right?” 

“Yes.”

“It’s simple. I’m insufferable.” The barkeep set down two tankards in front of them, giving Rumarin an odd look before walking away. 

“That all? You know I don’t buy it,” she said. “If Olfrid Battleborn can find someone, then surely there’s still hope for you.”

“Ouch,” he pretended to wince, picking up his mug. “Okay, I’m fairly certain that the Battleborn’s have a dysfunctional family dynamic. Just look at the youngest son, Jon or whatever.” 

“Ru, how many people have you been with?”

Mead went up his nose, the foam making him wince. “ _ What? _ ” Rumarin sputtered. 

“Seriously.”

“I don’t know.” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “I wasn’t keeping track.”

“Exactly!” She snapped her fingers. “After a while they all kind of blend together. Except the most recent or the best.” 

Rumarin glared at her over the top of his mug, not at all liking where this conversation was headed. 

“The solution is simple. You need to get laid. I mean not exactly, but the confidence from it.” 

“That-” Rumarin winced as he wiped more foam off his nose “-is not a solution. That sounds like a dilemma.”

“We can find someone. You just need someone who’s not so magey.” she waggled her fingers at ‘magey,’. “How about a thief?” 

“I am  _ not  _ sleeping with Brynjolf.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Brynjolf, I was thinking more like Vipir.” 

“The  _ fleet? _ ” Rumarin sneered. “I’d rather not. Besides who in their right mind-”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “If Maven Blackbriar can find a man, so can you.”

“She doesn’t need to  _ find  _ a man, she has money. Also, all her children? Not real. Daedra. Every one of them.” He finished his flagon of mead. Crossing his arms he looked across the table at Akhara’s determined stare he found himself suddenly feeling bolder. “I bet you twenty septims there is no one in this inn that would sleep with me once I opened my mouth.”

She sat back, crossing her arms at him from across the table. “Deal.” 

“Alright rules,” he held up a finger, “I don’t have to actually sleep with anyone.”

“Of course not. I’m just betting I can find someone who’s willing.”

“Okay. They have to be in this inn. You can’t go asking one of the mages to pull a Dremora from Oblivion and telling them to be nice to me because that’s cheating.”

“I have so many questions, but it doesn’t matter. You’re on.” He barely had time to blink before she called out to an altmer man sitting across the tavern. “You-” the man looked up, frowning. “Come here.” 

“You said  _ less magey, _ ” Rumarin hissed at her from across the table as the man walked over, clearly wearing mage robes. 

“I don’t deal with any College applicants these days, so don’t bother asking.” 

“No, this isn’t about that. What’s your name?” Akhara asked. Though Rumarin supposed  _ asked  _ wasn’t the right word. More like demanded. 

“Nelacar,” the mage frowned at the two of them. “And you are?...” 

“This is Rumarin,” Akhara gestured to him. “Nelacar, are you associated with the College?” 

“No. Gods no, not for years,” Nelacar frowned. 

Akhara raised one eyebrow and shrugged at Rumarin before asking, “and what do you do here?”

“I have research that keeps me busy and being here in Winterhold ensures access to former colleagues. Dagur and I have an understanding. He gives me my privacy, and I make sure my experiments don’t blow up his inn.” 

“Right, right,” Akhara waved a hand, “would you sleep with him?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rumarin hid his burning face in his hands.

.

.

.

He was another mug deep by the time she’d asked five other unfortunate people in the tavern if they were interested in him. “Ready to give up?” he held out an open palm, gesturing for the gold. 

“Not at all,” she said, looking around the inn. Her face breaking into a wicked smile as she saw something he couldn’t see. 

“Malur, I need you to take care of something.” The innkeeper was talking to, or trying to talk to, a dunmer man walking by while drinking from a tankard. 

“No, I don’t think so. Not today.”

“I haven’t even said what it is.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Malur called out, face half-buried in the tankard. “Thanks, but no.” 

“No…” Rumarin said, too late, as Akhara was already halfway across the tavern tapping the man’s shoulder. 

“My job is to serve the Jarl, not waste time talking with travelers.” 

“Are you with the college?” she asked. 

“I don’t really know anyone at the College.” the man hiccuped. “I guess everyone just assumes I do because I’m a Dunmer. It turns out that if people think you’re some sort of secret wizard, they’ll let you get away with a lot.” 

_ Wow.  _ Rumarin wasn’t sure if he was impressed or jealous. 

“So, what  _ do  _ you do here?” Akhara asked. 

“Me? Nothing. And I hope to keep it that way. The Jarl is convinced I have some connection with the College, so he goes easy on me. Why?” Malur looked between the two of them. “Are you a mage?” he directed at Rumarin. 

“Me? No. Actually, can’t stand them. These robes,” he gestured, “just for deception.” 

Malur looked Rumarin up and down. “You want a drink?” He didn’t need to look over to know Akhara was grinning from across the table.

.

.

.

.***.

It turned out, Malur wasn’t entirely unpleasant and happened to run in some sort of fencing ring. Rumarin wasn’t exactly surprised to find out he knew Enthir. Akhara had vanished at some point during the night and they had spent the next several hours badmouthing the College and talking about how enjoyable it was to trick people into assuming you’re a mage. 

“I have a room here, if you’re interested,” Malur said over his drink. 

“Oh, you know, I wasn’t um… I don’t usually…” Rumarin fumbled. 

“It’s fine,” Malur waved a hand. “I appreciate the conversation. Not enough folks traveling through Winterhold these days.” 

Rumarin nodded. No one in their right mind would travel here. He guessed that made him crazy. One of the most remote cities in Skyrim, and he was sitting in the inn, still not sure how he was going to send that letter to Sunken-Roots. Unless...

“Actually,” Rumarin looked at Malur, “do you think I could borrow some parchment? I need to send a letter.” 

“Sure,” Malur shrugged, waving him into his room.

.***.

Relief washed over him as he stepped outside the inn. The chilled night air almost painfully cold in his lungs. He’d scribbled instructions for Sunken-Roots in Malur’s room. Now all he had to do was get it to a courier. He dug a hand into his pocket, reaching for coin- coin… Shit. He’d lost the bet. 

“What are you doing out here?” Rumarin froze, heart leaping into his throat at the sound of Akhara’s voice behind him. 

He quietly slid the letter up his sleeve. “Why are you out here?” he retorted. 

She shrugged, pushing herself off the wall and coming over to lean on the railing. “I couldn’t sleep.” Dark circles rimmed her eyes. Had she been up all night? “Speaking of sleep,” she said, “why are  _ you  _ still awake?” 

Rumarin sighed, reaching into his pocket to fish out twenty gold. “Fine, here. You win.” 

She gave him a skeptical glance, raising one eyebrow before taking the coin. “Are you alright?” 

“Why would you think I wasn’t feeling great?” he said, sarcasm slipping through more than he intended. He was outside, in the _ cold, _ when he could be inside,  _ sleeping. _

“Because you’re outside of a tavern, in the middle of the night, being snippy.” 

“How do you _ do  _ that?”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you read my mind.” 

A little crease formed on her brow. “I don’t.”

“Oh, I don’t mean literally. If you could really read my mind you would have murdered me ages ago. I just mean, how do you know what I’m _ thinking. _ ” 

Akhara laughed. “You mean reading the expressions on your face?”

“No, that can’t be right. My poker face is excellent. Besides, who wants to look at it?”

“Plenty of people look at your face. Isn’t that what the war paints for?” 

He came to lean on the railing next to her, standing in silence for a while. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, she looked  _ tired.  _ No, she looked  _ exhausted.  _ He mentally calculated the number of days it had been since he’d seen her sleep. She hadn’t slept yet tonight. He didn’t recall seeing her sleep last night either. When he’d taken watch while they traveled she was always awake before it ended. 

The letter he’d hidden in his sleeve felt like it was burning a hole through his clothes. Maybe this was the best time to ask… 

“Why do you hate the Thalmor so much? Not that I blame you,” he added. 

She remained silent for so long he thought she wasn’t going to answer, when. “They took my mother.” 

She took a long breath, leaning into the railing before letting out a sigh, breath turning to fog in the chill night air. “She wasn’t  _ liked  _ by the Dominion. One day they came to the house. Under some excuse like ‘official business’. Netch shit. The next day, when I came home, she was gone. The week before the-” she shook her head. “I impersonated her after that for about a month. Then I joined the thieves’ guild,” she shrugged. “I used every resource I could within the guild to find her... but nothing. It’s like she doesn’t even exist anymore? I thought those rumors of a redguard escaping Northwatch keep were her but…” 

“But that was Mhanon,” Rumarin finished. 

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “So I started looking into pocket dimensions, because I thought maybe… but that just seems silly now.”

Rumarin swallowed. Not having the heart to say what they were both thinking. It was far more likely that her mother was dead. Especially if she’d disappeared right before the Great War broke out. 

“Why impersonate her?” 

“She was… a soldier in the Great War. Someone needed to fill her place.” 

Several seconds passed before Rumarin’s brain registered what she had said. “The Great War?” he frowned at her. “The War that happened thirty years ago? Where the Dominion invaded the Empire? That War?” 

She nodded. “I’m older than I look. The lycanthropy… I was young when I was bitten. I still age. Just slowly. So I have… no idea how old I actually am. But I was an adult by the time the Great War happened, so...” she counted on her fingers, “I’m  _ at least  _ sixty.” 

“Well,” Rumarin bit his tongue, struggling to find a way to diffuse the conversation. “I can’t believe you gave me grief about being seventy-two. For all we know, you’re older than I am.” 

“Why,” she laughed, “do I look old?” 

“No,” he shook his head, “you don’t look old.” 

She gently nudged him with her elbow, grinning when he returned the gesture. “You were there for that war, weren’t you? I’ve seen the way you look at fire sometimes.” 

Rumarin nodded. Grateful she said nothing else, the warmth from her pressing against his side. He wasn’t sure how long they stood out there. Feeling the cold against his skin. Eventually, they both conceded that they should sleep and returned to their respective rooms. 

Rumarin tossed and turned all night, the sheets sticking to him as he re-lived events from thirty years ago. The battle of Red Ring had lasted for a week. By the end of that week, Rumarin had seen more fire and magical destruction than he’d ever imagined. After that, he’d decided he wanted as little to do with the Thalmor as possible. Of course, you couldn’t just  _ leave. _ So he’d taken odd jobs, remained a third party forager to keep them off his back.

But now… now he was wondering how _ in Oblivion  _ he’d ended up traveling with someone who he had agreed to report to the Thalmor, and had coincidentally turned out to be involved in the Great War, who was now someone he considered a friend who he wasn’t at all about to rat out to Rulindil. To top everything off, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind about which side she’d been on. And it wasn’t the same side as him. 

.

.

.

.***.

Rumarin looked up from the pair of gloves he was planning on buying at the deep voice behind him amidst the chatter in the middle of Whiterun’s streets. He had been browsing the wares while they planned to stay the night in Whiterun before continuing on to Solitude. Of course, they still had to find some Thalmor robes, which weren’t exactly something you just bought in Whiterun’s market. 

“Well, look what the tide brought in.” The largest redguard he’d ever seen was walking up to Akhara, arms wide and a smile even wider across the man’s face. 

“Gorr, which poor bandit did you flip that led you here?” The man pulled Akhara into a hug, lifting her feet off the ground. 

A squeal erupted from his right, causing him to jump. “My hero!” A short blonde breton woman brushed past him, rushing towards Akhara and her acquaintance. Rumarin dropped a silver onto the stand for the gloves and turned around. 

“And if it isn’t the diamond of Riverwood.” Gorr welcomed the small breton with open arms. 

Akhara glanced over at him, the breton woman following her gaze. Rumarin stiffened a little as the blonde woman’s eyes looked him up and down. A large burn scar marked half of her face. He didn’t miss the large great sword she had strapped to her back. The thing was almost as long as she was. “Who is this? Is he with you?” 

“This is Rumarin,” Akhara gestured to him, “this is Zora,” she nodded to the breton woman who now clung to her arm, “and Gorr.” 

“Hello,” he nodded, feeling incredibly awkward for not knowing who these people were, or how they knew her. 

“I am very pleased to meet you Rumarin,” Zora winked. “I’m sure it’s no simple task following her around with all the trouble she gets up to.” 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” he grinned, “I generally hide behind her during the trouble.” 

Gorr laughed, clapping him on the back. The force of it nearly sending him forward. 

“We were in Riverwood recently,” Akhara said, “... I didn’t see you.” 

“Oh, I must have been with that last necromancer,” Zora said. 

Rumarin blinked, frowning at the same time Akhara said, “another one?” 

“You up for a night of drinking at the bannered mare? Since we’re all in one place,” said Gorr, “be nice to catch up. I seem to recall some crazy things happening whenever you’re around.” 

“I guess,” Akhara glanced at him, “we have nothing else to do.” 

“Come on, ‘Kara,” Zora linked their arms, despite the difference in height. Rumarin blinked at Zora’s affectionate nickname for her. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

.

.

.

“Oh, nonsense, put your coin away dearie, the room's free.” The server at the Bannered Mare waved a hand at them, only half paying attention as she gathered up the stacks of plates in front of her, hurrying to get more food out to the patrons. 

“What?” came Akhara’s confused voice. Palm still outstretched with the gold. 

“It's Heart's day!” the server beamed. “You can take the one on the right!” 

“No, but I need-” Akhara grit her teeth as the server disappeared, arms full with plates. "Two rooms..." 

“Well, that was awkward,” Rumarin said, pulling a chair out at a nearby table. No wonder the tavern was so busy tonight. 

“I'd forgotten it was hearts day,” Akhara said as Zora came back with three tankards.

“I have always loved hearts day!” said Zora. “It's so romantic!”

“Oh yes, to honor Polydor and Eloisa! May they rest in peace and all,” Rumarin said while taking a drink. 

“You sound a little bit bitter,” Zora teased.

“Oh, _ I am  _ . If I have to hear ‘the lovers' legend’ sung one more time by a nord man with fingernails for vocal cords, I'm going to throw up in my mouth.” 

Akhara snorted into her mead, while Zora stuck her tongue out. “I think it's a wonderful story!” said Zora. 

“Wonderful? Did we grow up with the same tale?” he asked.

“Doubt it, all things considered,” said Akhara. 

He ignored her and continued. “A noble fell in love with a mage and during their six-day relationship caused thirteen deaths, including their own,” he taped the wooden table with a finger. “Trust me, I've had to play the cousin to Polydor enough times, by the end I was hoping  _ I  _ would get stabbed.” 

“It's all the more lovely because it's so tragic,” Zora chided. “If people had been kinder to those lovers maybe they wouldn't have needed to take such drastic measures.”

“You know they say Polydor and Eloisa were doomed due to the cruel nature of the world,” he paused, taking a drink. “Remind me to use that line if I ever have to break up with someone. It's not you, it's not even me, it's the cruel nature of the world.” 

A hearty laugh came from Gorr, arriving with several plates of food. Though by the looks of it, it was all for him. The smell of the salted meat made his mouth water. And it wasn't long before he’d managed to chase down one of the servers and order his own. 

The four of them sat around the table. Akhara filled Zora and Gorr in about  _ most  _ of what they’d been up to. Glossing over killing Mercer, and telling them about High Hrothgar. Rumarin filling in blanks in her story with sarcasm and jokes. 

“So Delphine is a blade but Hjoromir thinks she's a daedra,” Zora walked back to the table with more drinks, standing behind him. 

"Ah, yes,” Akhara grinned, “the small town talk of Riverwood. Next you'll be telling me you're a Thalmor."

"You've caught me red-handed!” Zora smiled. “Or would it be gold handed? I do think high elves have very pretty skin.” Heat rushed to his ears, feeling Zora place her hands on top of his head and rest her chin on top. "But I like pointy ears the best! I would very much like to pinch them," 

“I charge ten gold per pinch,” he added, “but for you, it’ll be a discount, only because you’re nice.” 

Zora laughed, patting the top of his head as she moved to sit down. 

“What have you been up to?” Akhara asked. 

“Oh, I spent some time in a cage, before I had to kill the necromancer that trapped me.” 

“Zora, what is this, the fourteenth time you’ve been captured by necromancers?” 

“I think so. One tends to lose track.” 

“Hang on, I have a cure disease potion somewhere, you're suffering from a severe case of witbane,” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand what you’re waiting for, princess,” said Gorr, before taking a drink. 

“Well…” Zora tapped her chin, “someone handsome but not cute. Funny, but not mean. Tender, but not soft. Strong, but not violent. Caring, but not servile. I could go on and on...” 

“Please don't,” Akhara rolled her eyes. 

Zora smiled wider, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I want a man who’s aggressive, not impatient. Creative, but not obsessed. And most of all, confident, but not arrogant. The best I ever knew was four of those things, but he failed the arrogance test.” 

“How so?”

“He didn’t just cross the border between confidence and arrogance, no, he rode through on a gilded carriage pulled by frenzied mammoths!”

“Are you talking about Skjarn?” Rumarin offered. Her description bringing to mind a chauvinistic certain nord bard he’d met ages ago. 

“I could go for some mammoth,” Gorr said, “never had one of those before.” 

“How do you know?” Akhara interrupted. “The things they serve here, you very well could have.” 

Rumarin ignored them, going back to his dinner. “You're definitely talking about Skjarn.” 

Zora simply smiled at him.

“Well well, if it isn't the fair lass who stole my heart, and my coin purse,” came a voice from behind them. Rumarin turned, fork halfway to his mouth, to see a wood elf approaching them. Rumarin recognized the elf instantly, and groaned. 

“Shove it Larkspur, I'm busy. Unless you have more coin?” came Akhara’s voice, without even turning around. 

“I'm afraid I'll be keeping my coin purse close, unless you can think of more creative ways to get me to part with it? I do have to admit I'm curious after last time.” 

The intent was blatant and Rumarin couldn't help but notice. He tried to catch her eye and silently ask what was going on, but she ignored them and continued to take a long drink from her tankard. Why did Larkspur think Akhara had stolen his money- and it clicked. 

“You slept with Larkspur?!” Rumarin blurted. 

Zora blinked, looking between them. Gorr coughed, hitting himself in the chest several times. 

“What's the matter? Afraid you're not living up the legend of Larkspur? I could offer to show you a few tricks.” 

Rumarin held back a snort. “No thanks. One, we're not together. And two, gross.” 

“Three,” said Zora, “we _ are  _ rather busy.” 

“A shame. Here I was planning on leaving you a lavender flower,” Larkspur continued, “but after I discovered you stole my coin, I think nightshade might be more fitting.” 

“Nightshade?” Akhara questioned, her tone bordering on annoyed. 

“Yes, beautiful  _ and  _ deadly.” 

This time Rumarin did snort. 

“What? You think something else would be more fitting?” Larkspur directed at him. 

“Dragons tongue.” Akhara turned her head to send him a warning glance.  _ Shut up. _

Larkspur’s brow crinkled in confusion, “Why?...”

“Well obviously…” Rumarin trailed off after seeing Akhara’s subtle shake of her head, “because… yellow… is her favorite color.” Right. Nothing to do with being Dragonborn. Or the fact she had tattoos of that particular flower lining her left leg. Why wouldn’t Larkspur know that if they had been… 

Larkspur raised an eyebrow at him, leaning down on the table and addressing Akhara. “You keep curious traveling companions.”

“That's one word for it,” she agreed, not meeting his gaze.

“Well, I see Carlotta calling my name. Until we meet again, dear.” 

Akhara looked between him, Zora, and Gorr, taking in their faces which in Rumarin’s case ranged from stunned and embarrassed, to Gorr who appeared to be on the verge of laughing. Zora was looking disapprovingly at Akhara while biting her lip. “Ugh,” she shook her head. “I wanted to sleep with Eldawyn,” she explained, “he just happened to be there.” 

Gorr’s raucous laughter turned several heads to their little corner. Rumarin choked on the piece of potato he’d foolishly tried to eat during the conversation. Both Zora and Akhara waited with half-smiles for him to stop coughing. 

“I was wondering if we needed to have a talk about your choice of partners,” Zora said, “that little bosmer man gives me the creeps.” 

“Eldawyn, the town wine aficionado, really?” Rumarin raised his brow at her. 

“Well, we were drunk, but also,” she plopped one elbow onto the table and pointed, “she’s beautiful.” 

Gorr laughed. Rumarin followed her finger across the tavern, leaning against the bar, a wine bottle tilted to her lips, stood the altmer woman in question. He had to admit, she was attractive. But she was always drinking wine.  _ Only  _ wine.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask people that only drink wine, do you enjoy being an arrogant sod?”

“She’s arrogant for a reason-" Akhara started, when a large nord woman shouldered by, bumping into Akhara’s chair as she passed. The mead in Akhara’s tankard splashing onto her front. A tendon in her neck went taut. 

“I’d watch where you’re going if I were you,” Akhara said, setting the mug down carefully. “Good thing I’m not you, though. Don’t think I could handle being such a de’nt.” 

The nord woman paused, abruptly turning to face Akhara. "Listen, girl, I ain’t got no quarrel with you, but I won't turn one down, neither." 

“Well,” Akhara began pulling off her gloves, “you’ve got one now.”

Gorr let out a hearty laugh. Rumarin heard Zora give a small “oh no,” while somehow not sounding too concerned. 

"You'd be dead in six seconds!" The nord woman slammed her gauntlets down. 

“You count that high on your own?” Akhara sneered, showing pointed canines.

Rumarin looked back and forth between the two of them. “What are you doing?” Rumarin’s question went completely unheard. 

"A hundred gold says I knock your hide to the ground." 

“Deal.” Akhara stood, shrugging off her outer coat until she was just in her shirt and vest. Revealing her arms, and the claw-like scar on her left shoulder. Along with a larger scar that could be glimpsed running across her midsection. 

“Oh,” Zora cooed next to him, “I’m glad I’m not the only one with scars.” He swallowed, feeling heat rise in his face. 

Gorr chuckled, watching as the tavern goers began to form a circle at the center of the inn. “I’ll bet a hundred on our girl.” 

Rumarin opened and closed his mouth, not sure if he was impressed by how easily she’d started a bar fight or upset at having his dinner interrupted. He heard bets being placed. So much for keeping a low profile. Rumarin rolled his eyes. 

A man at the bar was taking bets. “Two-hundred on Uthgerd!”

He decided he wouldn’t be upset if he bet on it, and she won. The odds should be good. He’d never seen her lose a fight. And the nords in this tavern didn’t seem to think she was too impressive, or maybe they’d just seen this Uthgerd knock too many poor sods to the floor. 

Rumarin threw his fork down and joined in on the bets. “I’ll double it!” Rumarin said, shoving his way towards the man at the bar. 

“You're crazy.” The man looked him up and down, shrugging as Rumarin slid him the coin. Rumarin stuck out his tongue, squeezing through the crowd of people to get a better view. Of course, she would win this. She had better.

Akhara and Uthgerd began circling each other. Uthgerd threw the first blow. Akhara easily blocked it. From where he was standing the two seemed fairly evenly matched if you didn’t know that one of them was a werewolf and the Dragonborn. Which made for some fantastic betting odds for him. 

Both had taken a few hits now, but he wasn’t too worried. He spotted Gorr across the circle of spectators, cheering her on. Rather hilariously, he noted, Zora was next to him, nearly half his size but yelling twice as loud. 

_ “Keep your hands up!”  _

_ “Knock her down Uthgerd!”  _

Uthgerd's next punch landed. Rumarin flinched as he heard something crack. Akhara stumbled backward, nearly falling into the ring of spectators. Landing right in front of him. He placed both his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “remember, when in doubt, aim for the crotch.” 

She stood, wiping a trail of blood away from her mouth with the back of her hand. Akhara jumped forward, taking Uthgerd by surprise and throwing her hands around Uthgerd’s neck, bringing her knee up to her gut. 

Uthgerd doubled over. Akhara’s hands still around her head as she brought her knee up again. This time it connected with her face. Uthgerd stumbled to the side, then fell back, groaning on the floor. 

Screams and cheers echoed throughout the tavern. Akhara stood in the center letting her shoulders go slack as she rolled her head from side to side. Rumarin cheered, realizing he was gripping the robes of some poor sod who happened to be standing next to him. He pushed his way through the crows to find that one nord who’d bet two hundred gold Akhara would lose. A few others were looking pleased with the outcome. Maybe more people had bet on her than he’d thought. 

Akhara leaned up next to him against the wooden bar, “And there it is!” she smiled, swinging one arm around Rumarin’s shoulders as he gathered up the coin. Instinctively the muscles in his neck tightened. She was… warm. A few more locals gave her good-hearted slaps on the back as Rumarin tried to steer them back towards a table. If they could do this once a week maybe, they’d be set for gold in no time. 

She threw her other arm around Zora. “Are you feeling better now?” the breton laughed, nudging her back towards the table. 

“Haha, I haven’t seen a fistfight that good in a while.” Gorr pulled out a chair for her. 

“Are you alright?” Zora narrowed her eyes. “Did she get hit in the head?” 

“I’m fine,” Akhara waved her off, sitting down and grabbing another drink. 

“Sure, sure. I forgot how thick-headed you are.” 

“Right, that’s enough excitement for me for one day. But, it does give me an idea,” he said, glancing around at the full tables of people. Some now with more coin to spend. There had to be a deck of cards  _ somewhere  _ in this inn. 

.***.

Truly, Rumarin wished they hadn’t forgotten about the single room. Or that the room had only a single bed. It didn’t help that they were all a little drunk. So, Rumarin had forgotten about it too. But it was too late for that now. The tavern quiet, nearly all of its occupants had gone to bed. And the two of them stood in the doorway, staring at the offending piece of furniture. 

“Um.” Rumarin rubbed the back of his neck. “You can have the bed?” 

Akhara raised an eyebrow at him, dropping her staff and pack on the floor. The weight of her pack making a significantly heavier clinking sound with all coin they’d won. “Are you asking or stating?” 

“Both?” 

She blew air out of her lips, letting out a small laugh. Sinking onto the bed still fully clothed, she yawned, stretching and kicking her boots off. “You can have that side,” she mumbled, curling onto her side. “Just don’t tell Zora.” 

“You mean that adorable breton who looks like she’d tease me forever? My lips are sealed.” The furs on the bed shifted as he sank down next to her. Closing his eyes for a full second before her jostling the bed made him open them again. 

“Ru,” her voice came out tired and confused. Even in the dark he could make out the furrow in her brow. “How do you do that thing… when you shake the card, and it… changes?” 

“You have to flip and do three cards,” he made a gesture with his hands, “You can’t ask me this while I’m drunk. I don’t even know how to explain it sober.” 

“You’re drunk? Why are you drunk?” 

“Because this is the only place where I can still get Honningbrew mead.” 

“Oh right, I said I’d find you some,” she said through a yawn, rolling back over and facing away from him, her hair coming loose. 

Rumarin squinted over at her in the dark. “You  _ did. _ ” He bit back a laugh. Did she not remember? He closed his eyes, rolling over. At some point during the evening, she’d tapped him on the shoulder, holding three bottles of the stuff. And he’d drank all three. Which explained why he felt so warm now. 

And in the morning, if he woke up feeling warm, no longer being able to blame the mead, and to find her pressed against his side, he certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone. 

.***.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Gorr would give the best hugs! Those squeeze and lift you off your feet kind of hugs!   
And poor Ru. When I made Mhanon I planned to have him marry Onmund, but ofc couldn't resist picking up Ru for his college quest dialogue and I just, you know, who wouldn't have at least a little crush on him? Anyway I hope I managed to resolve the crush peacefully and convey how Mhanon feels. He still likes Ru as a friend, but ultimately wants very different things out of life. And Rumarin isn't angry at Mhanon in any way, more disappointed in himself. I did think Ru needed some extra push for his personal quest to make sense, in this case it's him feeling a bit insecure because of the 'almost break up', since they were never actually together. Now Mhanon and Onmund can live happily ever after and other things (like a certain bladebinders feelings for the resident dragonborn) can continue to simmer.


End file.
